


Until You Don't Need Me Anymore

by country13



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Boys Kissing, CEO Ian, Death Threats, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Gallavich, Ian Gallagher Being an Asshole, Jealous Ian Gallagher, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mention of Terry Milkovich, Mutual Pining, Non-Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Power Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Rough Kissing, Shameless Big Bang, Sickness Support Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Surprise Kissing, Swearing, Threats, Top Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/country13/pseuds/country13
Summary: Ian Gallagher is the President and CEO of one of the most successful investment firms in the country who lives for his job and doesn’t have time for much else, least of all a relationship. Being a shrewd businessman, Ian has managed to make a lot of enemies which he knew came with the territory.  But one day that fact hits too close to home when he receives a threat on his life….Mickey Milkovich is the bodyguard hired to protect Ian. He begins his new job optimistic about the future, especially considering that this new assignment would allow Mickey to be at home with his family when they needed him the most instead of traveling all across the country.  But Mickey and his new boss don't get off to the best start.However, that soon changes and the attraction between them becomes too strong to ignore. Will they be able to keep things professional or will their feelings get in the way of their business relationship? Will Mickey’s carelessness in the past come back to haunt him? Will Mickey be able to keep Ian safe while guarding his own heart? Will Ian let his feelings go against everything he has believed in as a successful business entrepreneur?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to round 8 of the Shameless Big Bang! It is not completed, so only Chapters 1-7 have been posted so far, but I promise I WILL finish it. This is my first real multi-chapter AU. I really hope you like it! 
> 
> A huge thanks to my artist, marzgaperez, for the mood board. You stepped up and offered to help me and because of you, i was able to enter this round. You are the best!
> 
> And to my beta, Terri-I could not have done any of this without you. You've stuck by me from the very beginning when I started writing this and have been such an invaluable partner. Your patience, advice, and encouragement have kept me going and I don't know how I could ever repay you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Ian Gallagher leaned back in his plush leather desk chair, his patent leather Armani shoes resting on his large mahogany desk, admiring the sky with its billowy clouds and bright sunshine filtering in through his huge 17th floor office window as he looked out over the expanse of the Chicago skyline. It really was a magnificent sight on a Monday morning. If somebody had told Ian when he was a scrawny, freckled-faced red headed gay kid hustling his way through life on the South Side of Chicago where the only way to make money was to steal it or scam it, that one day he would be the President and CEO of a major corporation, he would have laughed in their fucking face. But as it turns out, the skills he learned on the mean streets of Chicago, had prepared him greatly for the business world. He was sharp, hard-working, and cocky, all the attributes a young businessman needed.

So, here he was, in his huge corner office in downtown Chicago, working for Trustmark Companies, the first company he interned with while earning his MBA at Chicago University. He worked his ass off and moved on up the corporate ladder until at 29, he became the youngest CEO in the history of the company, maybe even the city. He didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that he was good at his job and he loved every minute of it. The power it gave him, when deals were made and hands were shaken. The rush of it was almost better than sex, but not quite. 

Ian treated his love life like he treated his job-make the deal, get in, get out-literally-and be done. He had his career, he didn’t have time for a relationship, not that he would want one even if he did. He loved to go to the gay clubs, his favorite being The Fairy Tail, and cruise for his latest conquest. There was always an endless barrage of men willing to go home with him. The rush of adrenaline it gave him was incredible. Ian was no slouch in the looks department thanks to his three day a week workouts at his company gym.

He had certainly come a long way from that scrawny kid from the South Side. He was tall, had fire red hair, piercing green eyes, and ripped abs. Needless to say, he could pretty much have any man he wanted and he knew it. He walked in the club with a quiet confidence that had practically every man following him with their eyes as he sauntered up to the bar. Once he found his pick of prey, a few smoldering looks and flirty glances later and they were headed back to his place where they would fuck all night and Ian would, in no certain terms, make it known that the man’s presence wasn’t welcomed during daylight hours.

Ian had turned back around and was typing away on his laptop when there was a light knock on his door. “What?!” Ian snapped.

Ian’s assistant, Tim, cracked open the door and stuck his head in. “You ready for me, boss?”

Ian responded without looking up, continuing his attack on the keyboard. “Don’t even think about coming in this office without my damn latte. And how many times do I have to tell you? It’s Mr. Gallagher.”

Tim had been Ian’s assistant for three months after the last one he had didn’t know her head from a hole in the wall. In fact, he had been through six assistants in the last year, each one of them pissing him off for one reason or another with their ineptitude. Ian wasn’t the easiest person to work for, but he was the damn CEO, he couldn’t afford to have anybody working for him who wasn’t professional and efficient at all times.

So far, Tim had kept Ian on schedule and managed to not annoy the fuck out of him yet which was no small feat. His only infraction so far was not addressing Ian correctly. He ran a tight ship and being called “boss” just wasn’t going to be tolerated. Ian knew he could be intimidating, but as long as Tim did his job while staying out of Ian’s way, they shouldn’t have any problems. But given his track record of keeping assistants, he figured it was just a matter of time before this one fucked up somehow and he’d have to go back to the drawing board to find another one.

Tim raised is arm through the small opening of the door, cup in hand with the logo from Ian’s favorite coffee shop, Java Jann’s, located on the first floor of his building, emblazoned on the side of it. “Yes sir, Mr. Gallagher. Vanilla Latte, Venti, Skim, Extra Shot, Extra-Hot, Extra-Whip, Sugar Free.”

Ian, deciding to accept Tim’s peace offering, waved Tim in and directed him to sit down to start their Monday morning meeting to review Ian’s schedule for the week. He sat Ian’s cup in front of him on his desk before sitting down in his usual spot in the chair opposite him, iPad and various files and papers in hand. Ian had no time for trivial things such as being organized and keeping on schedule. That’s what he paid Tim for. Ian was too busy being master of his own universe. He finally stopped typing and looked up at Tim as he brought the coffee cup to his lips, the sun from the window reflecting off his brand new Bvlgari watch. “Ok, let’s get started.”

Without any preamble whatsoever, Tim got right down to business. “You’ve got the board meeting in the morning at 7:00am, a meeting with Mr. Donaldson at 3:00pm on Wednesday,” Tim held out a stack of papers for Ian to grab, “and then there are these.” 

Ian took the papers from Tim’s hand and laid them on his desk to look them over. “Is this everybody?”

“Yes, sir. All fifteen of them.” Tim wrung his hands nervously in his lap, much to Ian’s annoyance. “When did you want to meet with them?”

“Let’s make it for Wednesday morning, 9:00am. That will give me time to prepare.” The board of advisors had agreed with Ian that layoffs within the company were the only solution to offset some of the financial losses the company had experienced in the previous quarter. The company was still doing well, for sure, but there had to be recourse somewhere for the costs. They had to constantly watch their bottom line.

The bottom line was, it wasn’t personal, it was business. Emotions didn’t belong in business. Hell, Ian didn’t even allow them in his personal life, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them creep in on his business dealings.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Monday and Tuesday came and went, and Wednesday morning, Ian walked in his office, briefcase in one hand, while Tim handed him his morning latte and his mail in the other. He sat his briefcase down to tuck his mail under his arm as good morning pleasantries were exchanged. 

“You’ve got a conference call at 8:00am with Mr. Taggert,” Tim reminded. “And then the meeting at 9:00.”

“Right,” Ian responded. He looked at his assistant and noticed his face twisted up in a grimace. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“I just feel bad for all of those people, not knowing that they’re about to lose their jobs,” Tim shrugged.

Ian rolled his eyes and ignored his uptight assistant’s concerns. “Hold all of my calls and come and get me at 8:45.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim nodded.

Without another word, Ian strolled into his office and clicked the door shut behind him.

At promptly 8:45, Tim knocked on his door and stuck his head in when Ian gave him entry. “It’s time, Mr. Gallagher.”

Ian pushed away from his desk and stood up. “Okay, let’s do this.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________

At 10:00am, Ian was back in his leather chair, answering the countless emails he had received just in the time he’d been gone to the layoff meeting. All in all, everything had gone well. One of the employees, Harold Sheraton, who had 23 years with the company, had left the room but not before going up to Ian, putting his finger in his face and through gritted teeth said, “you’ll fucking pay for this, asshole.” Some of the other employees were visibly upset and yelled obscenities as they left the meeting room. Some mumbled under their breath. Some just started crying and ran from the room.

It wasn’t like these people were walking away empty-handed with no help. The company offered two weeks of severance for every year of service with the company. That was more than enough for them to have enough time to find another job and get back on their feet. That was a lot better deal than they would get with other companies. They could’ve been thrown out flat on their asses with nothing, so Ian felt like they actually got a damn sweet deal. He had a company to run and didn’t have the time to worry about their problems anyway.

The rest of the day carried on like business as usual, and at 5:35pm, Ian’s day had finally come to an end. He locked up his office and said good night to Tim, who was about to leave himself. Ian got in his silver Porsche 911 Carrera S and sped off toward his apartment, eager to wash off the remnants of his busy day, and go find some drinks and some twinks at the Fairy Tail.

At 8:30pm, Ian walked confidently into the Fairy Tail, wearing his black leather jacket, hunter green Henley, and designer jeans. He felt all eyes on him as he walked to the bar. He nodded at the familiar bartender who was raking his eyes up and down him as he sauntered up to the bar. “Hey Ian, how’s it going? The usual?”

“Hey, Luke. Yeah, thanks.” Luke was a burly motherfucker with tattoos covering a large portion of his body, and he had wavy brown hair and brown eyes. Luke had been working behind the bar for the last several years, at least for as long as Ian had been coming there, but he had never tried to hook up with Ian. Either the dude was in a serious relationship with somebody, or he was completely blind. What the fuck ever. Besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t have his pick of any other guy in the place.

As soon as Luke placed Ian’s gin and tonic in front of him, a cute blonde strolled up to him as he leaned nonchalantly on the bar, sipping from his glass.

The stranger leaned in and put his lips close to Ian’s ear to be heard over the loud music. “You’re hot,” he breathed. The guy was annoyingly eager, grinning widely at Ian, and fluttering his eyelashes at him. Jesus, like taking candy from a baby. He wasn’t usually the kind of guy Ian went for at all, but he wasn’t really in the mood to be picky.

Ian slammed his glass down on the bar half full, grabbing the blonde’s wrist and dragging him across the room to the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

Without a word, the blonde let Ian lead him wherever he wanted to go. Shit, this was going to be easy. Sometimes, Ian thought about wanting a challenge, wanted a guy to put up at least some kind of a fight. Make him work for it a little bit. The men he hooked up with rarely ever did. It was getting almost too easy. He wanted guaranteed ass, and he had it right in front of him as he put his chest to the blonde’s back and pulled him flush against him, grabbing his hips roughly as he started to grind against him. 

The driving beat of the music reverberated through Ian’s whole body as he surrendered to it, loving the feel of it as he gyrated his hips, and the blonde responded by rubbing his ass against Ian’s crotch. Goddamn. Ian leaned in close to his ear and yelled, “What’s your name?” Ian was a cock slut, but hell, he at least wanted a name to go with the face he was going to be fucking.

“Will!” the man yelled back. He raised his arm and snaked it around Ian’s neck and placed his hand on the back of it and pulled Ian’s head down closer. “What’s yours?”

“Ian,” he stated plainly. Ian didn’t see any reason to delay the inevitable. Ian was horny, had a hot guy rubbing against him seductively. What more invitation did he need? “Wanna get out of here?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Will responded enthusiastically. Ian led him out of the club and to his waiting car. As they got in, Ian heard a light chuckle escape Will’s lips.

“What is so damn funny?” Ian asked.

“Your license plate. Star Wars fan?”

The guy had apparently noticed his license plate that said JEDI MSTR. “That and I am master of my own universe,” Ian bragged, cocking his eyebrow.

“That is so fucking hot.” Will started kissing on Ian’s neck and rubbing his palm over his now rock hard cock. “God, you’re sexy as fuck.”

“You keep doing that, and I’m not going to be able to drive,” Ian warned. He kissed the other man hotly for a few moments, until finally they were on the highway, headed to Ian’s apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, they were tumbling into the elevator of Ian’s apartment building, Ian pushing Will up against the back wall and kissing him hungrily. This was the only time Ian hated living on the penthouse floor. It took too goddamn long to get to the top when he was hard as hell and ready to be inside the man he was with. 

Ian put his hand down the blonde’s pants and wrapped it around his cock, squeezing as he stroked up and down. Hmm, not bad. The guy was packing. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels good,” he panted. Ian wrapped his other hand around Will’s neck and brought him in to kiss him deeply, shoving his tongue down his throat, effectively capturing the moans he emitted from what Ian’s other hand was doing.

The elevator dinged and finally, fucking finally, they made it to Ian’s floor. They reluctantly pulled apart and Ian led the way quickly to his apartment. Will followed him inside and started looking around with an amazed look on his face, clearly impressed with Ian’s modern, plush bachelor pad and state of the art furnishings. “Man, this place is incredible.”

Ian didn’t have time for this shit. “Yeah, yeah, bedroom’s this way.” Ian pointed down a hall past the kitchen as he began walking toward it, the blonde following like an eager puppy at his heels.

Ian moved toward Will with purpose after closing the bedroom door. He was standing beside the bed, waiting for his cue from Ian. Ian grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head, throwing it haphazardly on the floor somewhere. He undid his jeans and pulled them down roughly as Will stepped out of them and removed his socks. “Lay down on the bed.”

Will complied and laid down in the middle of the bed. Ian came around to the end of it and crawled slowly up his body, appreciating his rock hard cock and abs, and his sinewy muscles. The man had a very nice body, and Ian hummed his approval as his mouth came down over his cock, swallowing him down. “Oh, fuck,” Will drawled out, as he closed his eyes in pleasure. 

His moans just spurred Ian on and he bobbed up and down on his dick, quickening his pace until he set a steady, fast rhythm. He continued for several minutes, the other man writhing and grunting beneath him as he tugged on Ian’s red hair roughly. Ian popped off his dick to warn him, “Hey, quit pulling my hair so damn hard, man.”

“Oh, sorry, just got caught up in the moment, I guess.”

“Whatever. It’s your turn, blondie.” Will huffed lightly, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Ian didn’t have patience for stingy lovers. “Scoot down on the bed.” Will did as Ian asked and scooted down until he was in the middle of the bed, his feet almost hanging off the edge. “That’s good.” Will stopped, and Ian immediately climbed up his body until his knees were on either side of his head. He lined his cock up with Will’s mouth and sunk down, holding himself up with his arms. Will sucked him down and swallowed several times, the action massaging Ian’s dick each time. “Shit, that feels fucking good.”

Ian gave Will a minute to adjust to his cock, knowing it was a lot to take in. As if reading Ian’s thoughts, Will stopped sucking long enough to say, “Fuck, your cock is huge.” Ian looked down at the man beneath him to see him staring appreciatively at his dick. What the fuck?

“Hey, quit ogling my dick and get back to sucking.” Will did just that without another word and Ian began fucking into his mouth, snapping his hips with each thrust. He continued his ministrations until he felt the familiar tightening of his balls. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Ian reached over to grab the lube and condoms from his nightstand drawer and threw them onto the bed. He slicked up a finger and slipped it slowly inside Will’s waiting hole. His head fell between his shoulders and he gasped at the feel of the intrusion. “Oh shit, Ian. Fuck me with that finger.” Ian noticed immediately that Will was already pretty loose to begin with. Not wanting to examine the reasons for that any further, Ian just continued on, adding two more fingers until Will was crying out. Jesus, if he went on like this just from his fingers, what was he going to do when Ian’s cock was buried inside him? There was only one way to find out.

“You ready for me?” Ian asked, although he already knew the answer. They always were.

“Fuck, yeah, man. Fuck me with that big cock.” After unrolling the condom onto his considerable length, Ian lined his dick up with Will’s hole, and thrust hard and deep, knowing from his earlier observation that he didn’t have to be gentle. “Oh yeah! That’s it! Right there! Fuck!”

Ian grabbed his hips roughly, pulling his body back against him as his hips thrust forward, meeting each other in the middle. “Fuck,” Ian moaned. He pounded away frantically, faster and harder each time until he set a punishing rhythm that the blonde couldn’t keep up with and he collapsed on the bed after a particularly fierce thrust, making Ian do all the work. Usually, Ian wouldn’t put up with that shit, but he was too close to finishing to care. Will raised up just enough to tug on his own dick as he whimpered softly. _What a fucking pussy_, Ian thought. He certainly was no power bottom, but he got the job done. A few more thrusts and Ian was spilling his seed into the condom as Will stroked his dick a couple more times until he came hard into his hand, screaming incoherently as he did. “Don’t get that shit on my sheets,” Ian complained as he plopped down on the bed on his back, a contented sigh leaving his body.

Will shyly asked where the bathroom was so he could clean up. Ian pointed him in the direction of his full bathroom across the room, and turned on his side, falling asleep almost immediately.

The next morning, Ian winced at the sunlight peering through his venetian blinds. He sleepily looked over at the alarm clock on his night stand. 6:31 am. Shit, he needed to get up and get ready for work. He turned back toward the bed, and that’s when he noticed an arm slung over his chest. He turned his head to see the arm was attached to a still sleeping Will. Oh hell no. Ian shook his arm. “Hey, wake up, asshole.”

Will moaned and stretched his limbs as he slowly began to come out of unconsciousness. “Well, good morning to you too, babe.”

Ian was not in the mood for this shit. “Don’t call me that.”

“Want me to make you some coffee? Some breakfast?”

Ian scoffed in annoyance. “No, I want you to get the fuck out.”

Will didn’t take the hint. “You want to go out Friday? I can meet you here.” How much plainer did Ian need to be?

“No, dude. I want you to leave.” Ian was now clearly frustrated. “That means go, goodbye. Holy fuck.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll go” Will finally relented, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I just thought we had a connection. I thought you liked me.”

“You think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now? You were nothing but a warm mouth to me.”

Will was visibly hurt by Ian’s words but Ian just couldn’t bring himself to care. Jesus, he never made any promises to the guy. What the fuck was he playing at? Ian was strictly a hit it and quit it kind of guy. He started thinking back to the night before and wondering if there was anything he had done or said to make this guy think that he was anything more than a quick fuck. Ian was coming up empty. He knew he had to shut this shit down quick, before this guy got even more clingy. The thought made Ian’s stomach turn.

Ian got up from the bed and grabbed a pair of underwear from his dresser. As he did, he heard the front door lock click and the door open. “Buenos dias, Senor Gallagher!”

“Who the fuck is that?” Will asked as he rushed to throw on his underwear and jeans.

“None of your fucking business who that is,” Ian groused as he slammed his dresser drawer shut. “And why the fuck are you still here?”

“I’m going, okay? Jesus.” Will grabbed his shirt and shoes off the floor and threw them on as well. The sooner this dude left Ian’s apartment, the better. Not only was he a clingy little bitch, he was also a lousy lay. But Ian always figured that bad sex was like pizza: even if it was bad, it was still pretty good.

Ian walked into the front room as his housekeeper was setting her things on the kitchen counter. “Good morning, Rosario. Couple things. Make sure to empty the dishwasher after the dishes are done. I’m tired of coming home and having dishes sitting in there. Also, tell that asshole Patel to stop using that cheap ass starch on my clothes. It breaks my skin out. Tell him to use the shit I send with you or I’m going to find another dry cleaner, and as much business as I give him, he’s going to regret not doing as I ask.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Gallagher,” Rosario agreed nervously in her heavy Spanish accent.

“Hey, Ian, can I use your phone to call me an Uber, my phone died….” Will’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard for Ian at this point and he just wanted him the fuck out of his apartment.

“What the fuck ever,” Ian grumbled as he grabbed his phone from the kitchen bar and handed it to him.

“Thanks. Hi, I’m Will,” he directed at Rosario. She looked at Will’s outstretched hand in confusion, then looked at Ian. It wasn’t the first time she had met one of Ian’s hook ups, but her face always flushed red in embarrassment every time. He assumed she would be used to it by now, but apparently not.

She shyly returned the gesture and turned around quickly to busy herself in the kitchen. “Don’t worry, Rosario, our friend was just leaving. You get that Uber?”

“Yes, thanks,” Will answered tentatively as he handed Ian back his phone. “I’m going to go downstairs and wait on it.”

“That’s the best fucking idea you’ve had all morning.”

Will hung his head as he walked toward the front door. As he opened it, he turned around one last time. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” he asked, hope evident in his voice.

“Yeah, don’t count on it,” Ian replied snidely, making his feelings on the matter absolutely clear. Will just shook his head sadly and closed the door quietly behind him.

With that problem handled, Ian turned to head toward the bathroom to get his shower and start his day.

________________________

Two weeks later, on a gray, gloomy Monday morning, Ian was in his office working when his office phone intercom beeped. “There is a call on line one for you, Mr. Gallagher,” Tim announced.

“Put it through, Tim," Ian answered with a huff. He was trying to prepare for the meeting he had in twenty minutes and his phone wouldn't quit fucking ringing. He was hoping it was his CFO, Mr. Taggert. He had been trying to get in contact with that fuckhead for two days. 

The call came through a few seconds later and Ian picked up the line. "Ian Gallagher." 

“Shut the fuck up and listen, you son of a bitch. You’re going to fucking die. Soon.”

The line clicked and went dead and there was nothing but a dial tone. Ian’s adrenaline immediately went into overdrive as he processed what the fuck just happened. A chill ran down his spine. It was a feeling Ian wasn’t used to. Ian was a hard-nosed, indestructible business man who didn’t let anything rile him, but that little call had succeeded in doing just that.

Ian slammed the phone down and went to question Tim. He didn’t want to draw too much attention to the situation, but he had to do something. “Tim,” Ian began, trying to control the intensity of his voice as Tim looked up from his computer. “Who was that on the phone?”

"I'm not sure, Mr. Gallagher." Tim had the look of a frightened puppy, clearly worried that he had done something wrong. 

"What did they say?" 

Tim's brows furrowed in concentration. "They just said, 'Ian Gallagher, please.' Is something wrong?" 

Ian knew he couldn’t let on what happened. Not to Tim at least. If it got out that Ian had received a death threat, it would be pandemonium throughout the company. He took a couple deep breaths to gather his thoughts on what to do next. “No, nothing's wrong," Ian answered distractedly. "I guess they hung up before I could catch the phone.”

“Do you want me to get them back for you?” Tim offered.

“No!” Ian yelled suddenly, startling Tim, but then quickly brought his voice back down to normal volume. “No, don’t do that. It's okay. If it's important, they'll call back.” With that, Ian turned from Tim’s desk and hurried back to his office and shut the door.

Ian sat at his desk, his mind running a million miles a minute, his hands shaking and sweat forming on his brow. Who the hell could’ve called him? He had no fucking idea. Whoever it was used one of those voice distortion whatever the fucks, so he couldn't even begin to speculate. The only thing he knew for sure was that somebody wanted him dead. But why?

What the hell did he do now? No one at the company had ever received a death threat before. What was the protocol? Did he call the police? No, that probably wasn’t a good idea. The only thing he did know was that he needed to get his shit together. But fuck, he was admittedly shaken, his adrenaline pumping through his veins at alarming speed. Even badass CEOs had their limits.

After taking a few deep breaths while his adrenaline slowly receded, he finally decided what the best course of action should be. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the Chairman of the Board, Gene Johnson.

The phone rang for what seemed like twenty minutes but was probably closer to twenty seconds, when a sweet voice finally answered. “Mr. Johnson’s office, how may I help you?”

“Louise, it’s Ian Gallagher.”

“Hi, Mr. Gallagher, how are you? Nice to hear from you.”

Ian definitely was not in the mood for her perkiness. “I need to speak with Mr. Johnson, please.”

“He’s about to head into a meeting. Let me see if he’s available. Please hold.”

Fucking great. Ian just hoped he caught him before he left for his meeting. The longer he waited, the more worried he got that he was in fact too late.

Finally, a loud booming voice came over the phone. “Gallagher, how the hell are you?” Ian had never been so relieved to hear that pompous ass’s voice before in his entire life.

“To tell the truth, Gene, I’ve been better.”

“What’s the matter, kid?” Ian hated when he called him that, and would usually tell him so, but right now, he didn’t give a shit.

He took a deep breath and just spit it out. “I just received a death threat.”


	2. Chapter Two

It was times like these that made Mickey Milkovich question his career path as a bodyguard. With the booming speakers behind his head blasting the latest teeny bopper hit song and the screaming teenage girls in front of him, the former South Side Chicago thug in him wanted to tell them all where they could go and high tail it the fuck out of there. But he was a professional now, and had a job to do. Besides, his family needed him and his steady paycheck now more than ever, and his sense of obligation to his family outweighed his disdain for his pop star princess client, Cassie Sinclair, every time.

Mickey had been working for LawDog Security for the last four years as a personal bodyguard to all manner of clients, from politicians to pop stars. He loved what he did most of the time, got off on the danger and excitement that came with this line of work. It was unpredictable and ever-changing, much like his life growing up on the mean streets of South Side Chicago.

Mickey, his brothers Iggy and Colin, and his sister Mandy, grew up hard and they grew up fast, enduring the wrath and hatred of their father, Terry. That hatred was never so prevalent than when he got a call from Mickey’s school that he had been suspended for having sex in the boys’ bathroom with another boy. Terry had come home, found Mickey in his bedroom and proceeded to beat the ever loving shit out of him until Mandy called the police. After the cops hauled him away in their patrol car, they never saw him again.

Frankly, they were better off since the only thing Terry ever did was use his kids in whatever illegal activities he had going on at the time. But one thing dealing with a father like Terry had taught Mickey was how to be tough and not take any bullshit from anybody. So, after Mickey graduated high school, he started working as a bouncer at local clubs around town. He developed his skills and before long, was one of the most sought after bouncers in the city.

His reputation became so well known that one night, his current boss, Hal Malloy, approached him about a job offer with his company, LawDog Security but not before making some wise ass crack about Mickey’s stature. Mickey told him what he had always told any fucker at the clubs he worked who made similar remarks: “I am 5’7” and 130 pounds of Ukrainian badass, so unless you want me to kick your fucking ass, I suggest you shut the fuck up.” Malloy hired him on the spot.

It was definitely an adjustment at first. Gone were the days when he had a set schedule at the local clubs and could be at home in his bed every night, and hopefully not alone. Working the gay clubs had made it pretty easy to score a hot piece of ass, as long as it didn’t interfere with his job. But now, working with LawDog for these last few years, he had traveled the world, staying in a different hotel in a different city every week. It was certainly never boring, even if it was a little lonely sometimes. He was so tired most nights that all he wanted to do was fall into his unfamiliar hotel bed and crash.

Mandy and Iggy still lived in their shitty house on Trumball Avenue in Chicago. Colin had fucked off to who knows where, so it was just those two trying to survive together. Mickey sent money back home to them as soon as he got paid every month. It’s not like he needed much money himself, most of his expenses went toward food and clothes. Being a bodyguard for high profile clients sometimes put a strain on his wallet considering that most of them only ate in five star restaurants and since they did, he had to as well. And as far as the clothes, Mickey had to keep up his professional image and that meant money spent on nice suits and shoes. After all, he needed to fit in with his client’s entourage, not stand out. The last thing he needed was to get the attention of a would-be assailant. Therefore, he had to maintain the look.

Mickey had been working for his current client, Cassie Sinclair, for the past six months. To say it had been a whirlwind would have been the understatement of the fucking century. Between the paparazzi and the constant bombardment, it was a pain in the ass to say the least. Just a couple months ago, during a transport for Ms. Sinclair from her limo to the venue she was performing at that night, Mickey inadvertently knocked a camera out of one of the paparazzi’s hands, and there was a lawsuit filed against her practically before the damn thing even hit the ground. But it was part of the job dealing with pop stars. Lawsuits were a dime a dozen. 

Ms. Sinclair’s current stop on her national tour was the Chicago Theatre, so Mickey was happy to be back in his hometown, even if he had been too busy to enjoy it or even see his brother and sister. He would have loved to have gotten them tickets to the concert but it was against policy to ask for any favors from your client, plus Iggy and Mandy would probably never be caught dead at a pop music concert. Mickey certainly never would have dreamed he would be here either.

But here he was, in this sea of cell phones and body glitter, scanning the crowd from his post on the main floor beside the stage. There was a metal barrier keeping the crowd at bay in the front, but that didn’t stop some fans from trying to climb over it. So far tonight, though, the crazy teenagers hadn’t gotten too out of hand. But Ms. Sinclair was only into the third song of her set, so the night was still young.

As if the teeny boppers were reading his thoughts, one skinny little tween found a gap in the barrier and turned sideways to slip through, but before she even got her other leg past it, Mickey was there, pushing her back behind it gently. “Step back, please. No one is allowed past the gate.”

“Kiss my ass, you fucking shrimp,” the girl insulted, her blonde hair hitting him in the face as she tried to maneuver around him. Who the fuck did this girl think she was? If only Mickey could say what he was really thinking, but if he wanted to keep his job, he had to be nice. No matter how much it fucking killed him.

“Please, stay behind the barrier or you will be escorted out,” Mickey warned with just a touch of venom. The girl rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation, but two seconds after she had stepped back behind the gate and Mickey had secured the two adjoining sections once again, her cell phone had her full attention and he was all but forgotten.

Mickey returned back to his spot with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, silently challenging somebody else to do something stupid when the light from his watch caught his attention. Watching the crowd out of the corner of his eye, he tapped his watch and saw he had a text. He swiped the screen with his finger and read the message. It was from Malloy.

_Get Bower to cover Ms. Sinclair after the concert. Come meet me at the office._

Mickey’s hackles automatically went up at his boss’s message. He never asked Mickey to meet with him. The only communication they had was when Mickey submitted his activity report via email or when he got an email from Hal letting him know about a new assignment. This couldn’t be good. Had he done something wrong? His mind started racing trying to think of anything he could have done that didn’t follow the company’s strict protocol, but he couldn’t come up with anything. Had his client complained about him? Fuck. Mickey was pretty sure he was in a shit ton of trouble and he didn’t even know why.

The LawDog headquarters was stationed in Chicago so maybe Malloy just wanted to touch base with him while he was in town. At least that’s what Mickey kept telling himself while he found his back up, Rick Bower, and told him what was going on.

“What the hell did you do, Mick?” Bower asked they headed backstage as soon as the concert ended. Bower had worked for the company for a year and still had a lot to learn. He was a huge guy at 6’2”, 320 pounds. He may have had the brawn that Mickey didn’t have, but Mickey had the brains. The guy was dumb as a stump as far as Mickey could tell. Being a bodyguard took strategic prowess and common sense, two traits that Mickey possessed in spades. This guy wouldn’t be able to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

“I didn’t do anything, you fucking tree,” Mickey groused, furrowing his brow. He knew the guy could stomp his ass into the ground with one foot but at the moment he was too damn anxious to give a shit. He was a bundle of nerves on the inside, but no way in hell was he going to let Bower know that. The sooner he found out what the fuck Malloy wanted the better. “Just come with me, okay?”

Bower followed Mickey as they maneuvered through the backstage area hallways and found Ms. Sinclair’s dressing room. Mickey knocked on the door loudly to be heard over the booming music coming from the other side. After a minute or so, the door finally opened and the singer’s manager stood in front of them, one hand on the door, the other on his hip, looking him up and down with derision. “About time you got here, Milkovich. You know you are supposed to stay with Ms. Sinclair at all times.”

This fucking guy. Sam Pinkerton, the meanest, most ruthless artist manager Mickey had ever dealt with. He had a reputation as one of the biggest assholes in the industry, and he loved nothing more than living up to it, giving Mickey shit every chance he got all the while looking down on him like he was some hired hand instead of essential security personnel.

Mickey took a deep breath and tried to tamp down all of the insults that were flying around in his head while Bower looked on, clearly waiting in anticipation for Mickey’s reaction. “I apologize Mr. Pinkerton. I got a call from Mr. Malloy, my supervisor that he needs to meet with me, so Mr. Bower here is going to fill in for me temporarily.”

“For how long?” Sam asked. “Why weren’t we notified of this change?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I’m sorry, I think it was a last minute decision.” Mickey was so pissed at Malloy for putting him in this awkward situation having to deal with this asshat. “But I assure you, Bower is more than capable to do the job,” Mickey reassured. He watched as a sly smirk formed on Pinkerton’s lips and he knew he was going to want to smack him for his next words.

“I’m sure. I mean, this guy actually _looks _like a bodyguard,” he said, scanning his hand up and down Bower’s tall frame.

Before Mickey could respond, there was a commotion behind Sam and Ms. Sinclair came up behind him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders while in her free hand was a plastic cup, no doubt filled with whatever alcohol was free flowing that night. There never was a shortage of that.

“Leave Mickey alone, Pinky,” she slurred, apparently already a few drinks in. “He’s my…_hiccup_…..buddy.” She turned her cup up to take another swig of her drink. “Hey, Mickey,” she smiled drunkenly.

“Hi, Ms. Sinclair. Great show tonight,” Mickey praised, fake smile firmly in place.

“Thank you, babe. So did I hear correctly that Bowser….._hiccup_…..is going to be my bodyguard now?” she asked as she laid her chin on Sam’s shoulder much to his annoyance and Mickey’s delight.

“Um, it’s Bower, but yes, that’s correct, Ms. Sinclair.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll let you guard my body” she said as her eyes scanned up and down his body lasciviously. “I think we’ll get along just fine, won’t we, Bowser?” 

Bower grinned stupidly at her and didn’t even bother to correct her. Sam huffed in exasperation and walked back into the room. “We sure will, Ms. Sinclair. I’m here for you, whatever you need.” Mickey could tell Bower was trying his best not to make that statement sound pervy but by the look on the pop star’s face, that’s exactly the way she took it.

Mickey turned his head so that only Bower could see him and shot him a quick warning look. “I better be on my way,” he began as he turned back to his boss. “I will see you soon, Ms. Sinclair.”

“Bye, Mickey,” she drawled out. She gave him a parting smile and wave then turned back to the party in full swing in her room but not before scanning her eyes up and down Bower’s retreating form. 

Mickey grabbed on to Bower’s shirt sleeve and pulled him roughly to the side, immediately putting his finger in the giant guy’s face. “You listen to me, Bower, and you listen good. No fucking around, you hear me? If you want to keep this job, you’ll keep your fucking hands to yourself,” he sneered.

Bower snatched his sleeve from Mickey’s grip. “Fuck, Mickey. What do you take me for? I ain’t going to do nothing with that teeny bopper. Hell, I’m practically old enough to be her dad. Would you lighten the fuck up? Jesus.”

Mickey sighed and pulled on his leather jacket. “Just so we understand each other.”

“I got it, Mickey,” Bower said as he straightened out his shirt sleeve. “Have I ever acted unprofessionally?” Mickey shook his head no. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”

Mickey darted his eyes around the hallway at the various people milling about. His mind flitted back to a time when he had given into temptation and everything he almost lost because of it. “Alright, well, I’m out of here, then. I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on.”

Bower nodded at him. “Good luck, man,” he said as he slapped him on the arm.

“Fuck off, _Bowser_” Mickey teased. As he heard Bower chuckling behind him, he turned and walked away and out of the theatre, his mind began nagging at him again, and he wondered just how much luck he was going to need.

_____________________________________________________

Mickey was huddled deep into his leather jacket to fend off the crisp November evening air as he unlocked the door and made his way inside LawDog Security headquarters and toward the bank of elevators. The office was abandoned except for the security company’s floor. Everyone else was long gone for the night.

He pushed the button for the 4th floor where the offices were located. As he stepped off the elevator, he noticed the lights on in the office. It was unheard of for Malloy to be here this late, so whatever it was he wanted must be urgent. That didn’t do much to calm Mickey’s nerves.

He finally got to his boss’s office and knocked lightly on the door. “Come in,” he called gruffly. Oh hell, he was already in a pissy mood. Mickey tentatively opened the door and stepped inside. “Milkovich. Come sit down.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Malloy wasn’t anything if not straight to the point. He wasn’t one for chit chat which suited Mickey just fine. Especially right now. He was a tough, hard-nosed son of a bitch but Mickey had the utmost respect for him which for him was saying a lot.

“What’s up, boss?” Mickey asked as he sat down.

“How is Ms. Sinclair? Bower taking good care of her?” His eyes were stern and hard, all business.

“Yes, sir. She’s in good hands,” Mickey assured.

“Good,” Malloy said as he folded his hands in front of him on his desk. “Look, Milkovich,” he began as Mickey tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “You are being reassigned.”

Mickey breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing those words, but then quickly realized that he still didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But hell, at least he wasn’t fired. “Reassigned? To where?”

“The CEO at Trustmark Companies has received a death threat, so they’ve enlisted our services for a personal bodyguard for him.”

“Who’s the CEO?” Mickey had a lot of contacts from the business world considering how extensively he had worked in it. He probably already knew the person.

“Name is,” Malloy shuffled some papers around on his desk until he found the one he was looking for. “Ian. Ian Gallagher.”

“Never heard of him,” Mickey said, surprised. He thought he knew all the big wigs throughout the city.

“He’s been the CEO for the last five years. Anyway, the company wants a full time personal bodyguard for Mr. Gallagher. They’re not sparing any expense and are taking this threat very seriously. Mr. Gallagher is going to be a very high profile client. My question to you is, can you handle this job?”

Mickey scoffed then tried to disguise it as a cough. “Yes, sir. Of course I can.” If Mickey could handle some tweaked out pop star, he could handle a business man. 

“You know why I’m asking, Mickey.” Malloy’s eyes were locked on Mickey’s pointedly. “I don’t need a repeat of Stargon.”

The mention of that company sent a chill up Mickey’s spine and brought back all the painful memories. “Yes, sir. I understand,” Mickey’s voice broke just a little but he was able to control it. He quickly regained his composure and put his hands on his knees to listen intently to his boss.

“I’m giving you this assignment for two reasons. One, I know your family needs you close to home right now. Trustmarks is located in downtown Chicago so you can be nearby and not have to travel all over the damn place.”

Mickey didn’t know how to express how happy he was about that fact. He had been traveling all over for so long that he wouldn’t even know how to act being in such close proximity to his home, his family. “What’s the other reason?”

Malloy leaned back in his desk chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Because you’re the best I’ve got.”

Mickey couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. That was the first time he had ever said anything like that to Mickey. It felt fucking incredible to have his talents and abilities recognized and appreciated. “Thank you, sir.”

“You earned it, kid.” Mickey hated being called that, but as happy and relieved as he was in the moment, he was willing to overlook it. Mickey saw the hint of a smile on the man’s face which lasted for all of two seconds and then it was back to business as usual. “Here’s a schedule of Mr. Gallagher’s day to day which of course is subject to change and a copy of his itinerary for the next two weeks.”

Mickey took the papers from his hand and scanned them quickly. From what Mickey could tell, it was the typical schedule for a CEO. “When do I report?”

“Monday morning, 7AM. You will need to meet with the Board of Directors and Mr. Gallagher first thing. Do not be late,” Malloy warned sternly.

“Yes, sir. Who’s going to work with Ms. Sinclair?” It wasn’t like Mickey was going to miss being around her crazy ass Hollywood life and everything that came with it, but he still wanted to make sure she was being cared for.

“Bower can handle it. I will keep him there. He’s already familiar with the schedule and the lifestyle. It will be good experience for him. What do you think?”

Mickey nodded in agreement. “I agree. He’ll do fine. Even if he is as dumb as a box of fucking rocks.”

“Alright, enough,” his boss warned as he chuckled. “Get the hell out of here, Milkovich.”

Mickey didn’t hesitate, afraid that if he stayed any longer, he would change his mind. He jumped up from the chair and walked to the door. But before leaving, he turned back around. “Thank you, Mr. Malloy,” he said sincerely.

His boss just nodded, pointing his finger at him. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, sir,” he saluted. With that, Mickey turned on his heel and left the office, a wide grin spread across his entire face, thinking how good it was to finally be going home.


	3. Chapter Three

Mickey sat at the long, wooden conference table on the 17th floor of Trustmark Companies, surrounded by stuffed shirt after stuffed shirt. Old, gray headed men and women with fancy gold embossed pens in their hands and sticks up their asses. It was a world away from Cassie Sinclair, the teen pop sensation. Mickey rubbed the sleep still in his eyes and took a sip of his glorious black coffee. His day had begun at 5:00am since he wanted to get a workout in before he reported to work. He had a hard time concentrating since he was so excited about this new assignment and ended up arriving thirty minutes early.

To Mickey’s surprise, his new boss wasn’t even here yet. It was now 7:11am and after the couple minutes it took for everybody to introduce themselves, an awkward silence fell over the room. As the man who Mickey now knew as the Chairman of the Board, Mr. Johnson, checked his gold watch for the third time in the last couple minutes, the door to the conference room swung open and a tall, slender man rushed in.

“Good morning, sorry I’m late,” the man said tersely, briefcase in one hand, overpriced coffee in the other. “The traffic was killer this morning.” Mickey immediately straightened up and took in the man’s fiery red hair and green eyes. He was extremely good looking. Mickey assumed he was the CEO since he was the only one missing from their meeting. But damn, he looked young. He couldn’t have been over thirty. _This _guy was his new boss? Holy shit, he was not what Mickey was picturing in his mind at all.

A voice thankfully broke Mickey from his wayward thoughts. “But yet you had time to stop for coffee?” Mr. Johnson remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If you must know, my assistant got this for me like he does every morning. Is there a problem, here, Gene?” the man challenged, his eyes laser focused on the older man at the other end of the table.

“Just get here on time, Gallagher. We all have busy schedules and we don’t have time to sit around and wait for you.” There were awkward coughs and quiet mumbles all around the table. Mickey just kept his head down and eyes cast downward to avoid the metaphorical bullets in this showdown.

The redhead opened and closed his mouth as if he was going to say something else, but he must have thought better of it, because he just placed his briefcase on the table and sat down in his chair at the head. Mickey could see upon closer inspection that his neck and face were flushed red, no doubt from anger at Mr. Johnson. Well, this meeting wasn’t starting well, Mickey thought.

“Your agenda should be in front of you there,” the lady next to Mickey said. He thought he remembered her name as Ms. Thurman, one of the senior vice presidents.

“Got it,” the man said as he picked up the piece of paper and carefully examined it. He placed it back on the table and looked up finally, his eyes moving around the table, nodding at all of the familiar faces, until he came to Mickey.

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, picking up his agenda again, clearly looking for a clue as to his identity.

Mr. Johnson slowly stood from his leather wing back chair. “Mickey Milkovich, allow me to introduce you to Ian Gallagher, the President and CEO of Trustmark. Ian, this is Mickey Milkovich, your new personal bodyguard.”

Mr. Gallagher’s eyes immediately shot up in surprise as he stood to face Mr. Johnson, a classic power play. Mickey had seen it so many times dealing with businessmen. “Bodyguard? What the hell do you mean, ‘bodyguard?’

“The board made the unanimous decision to provide you with full time personal security, Ian.”

“Well, I don’t want it,” Ian said firmly. Mickey had no idea that Gallagher didn’t know about him, which had to suck, being blindsided like that.

“Well, it’s not up to you. We already voted on it,” Mr. Johnson said stubbornly. He wiped his brow with his hand. “Look, Ian. We are taking this death threat very seriously. It’s for your protection until the CPD and FBI’s cases are complete and they catch whoever did this.”

Ian braced his hands on the table and leaned forward, exasperation painted all over his face. “Shit, that could take forever. I’m the CEO of this whole goddamn company. I have a lot of enemies.”

“Plus, you’re an asshole,” Mickey heard Mr. Johnson mutter. Mickey giggled low in his throat and tried to disguise it as a cough.

Mickey wasn’t sure if he covered it well, but Gallagher looked over at him like he was really noticing him for the first time. “Do you have something to add? What was your name again?”

“Mickey. Mickey Milkovich. And no, I don’t have anything. Sorry, sir.”

Ian’s eyes stayed on him, looking him up and down, scrutinizing him. After a couple moments, his eyes darted back to the chairman. “This guy?” He pointed a long index finger at Mickey. “Seriously? This is my ‘bodyguard’?” Ian groused with full on air quotes. “He looks about as scary as a box of damn kittens.”

Mickey’s fists were clenching and unclenching in his lap underneath the table along with his jaw. It was taking everything in his power not to punch this guy in his. He realized with dismay that Mr. Johnson was actually spot on, this guy was indeed an asshole.

Mickey took a few deep breaths before responding. “I assure you, Mr. Gallagher, that I am fully capable of providing you with all of your security needs.” There, that sounded professional right? Mickey felt anything but professional at the moment. He wanted to punch the guy in his too pretty face.

“He came highly recommended from LawDog Security, Ian.” The table now was almost like a tennis match, with heads turning from one side to the other, taking everything in.

“LawDog Security?!” Ian all but shrieked. “What in hell kind of name is that for a security company?” Ian started pacing back and forth across the room. “Oh, I get it,” he said snidely, slapping his forehead. “They’re all supposed to be pit bulls, right? Yeah, real clever. Too bad they sent us the runt of the litter.”

Mickey was almost sure he had smoke blowing out of his ears, he was so angry. Not only was the guy insulting him, but he was insulting the company that he had worked for for the past four years, the company that allowed him to take care of his family. That thought stopped Mickey cold from telling this guy exactly what he thought of him. He needed this job and he wasn’t going to let some snooty ass CEO ruin that for him.

“Look,” Mr. Johnson placated, “let’s just try it for a while. You are a very important asset to the company and we would feel much better knowing you had some protection. If you see that it’s not working out for you, the Board can reconvene at a later time and reconsider our options.”

“And I get a say in that. No more pulling this surprise shit on me anymore. Agreed?”

The chairman nodded. “Agreed.”

“Good. Let’s continue the meeting.” Gallagher sat down again but not before shooting Mickey a scathing look. Mickey never thought he’d say this, but damn this asshole really made him miss Cassie Sinclair.

__________________________________

Ian was beyond fucking pissed off. Somehow, he was able to continue on with the board meeting and tamp all those feelings down to conduct the business at hand, but when they got to the section of the agenda that pertained to his new bodyguard and they reviewed with Ian what services he would provide, Ian was livid. So, as soon as the meeting was over he high tailed it back to his office to fume in private, but of course he couldn’t do anything in private anymore with that short stack on his heels. They had arrived back at his office and the man insisted on doing a security sweep of his office before he entered. So he was currently standing outside his office door waiting impatiently.

There was no way this arrangement was going to work. Did Ian really need a full time bodyguard for one death threat? Yeah, the call frazzled him a little bit, but he felt the board was overreacting on this. He certainly didn’t think he needed one and he was pissed that he didn’t even get a fucking vote on it. He knew the board had that right, but it still got his hackles up. He didn’t need some ass clown following him around all the damn time. Especially one that Ian could probably beat up his damn self. This whole situation was an absolute cluster fuck.

“All clear, Mr. Gallagher,” the bodyguard said.

Finally, he could sit at his desk and get some work done. “About damn time,” Ian muttered, huffing as he entered his office. He went to shut the door but the bodyguard shot a hand up to stop it. Ian turned and looked at him quizzically. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I am required to stand guard in your office, Mr. Gallagher.”

“In my office? Are you kidding me right now?” Ian complained. “You can’t just sit here and watch me work all day.”

“It’s my job, Mr. Gallagher.”

Ian sighed tiredly. It was only Monday morning and it was starting out to be one hell of a week. “What was your name? Mickey was it?” Ian made his way over to his desk and sat down behind it, leaning back confidently with a smirk on his face.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Mickey replied stoically.

“Are you going to hold my dick when I go take a piss as well?”

“No, sir, that’s not in my job description,” Mickey said plainly as he clasped his hands in front of him.

Ian tipped his head back and let out a boisterous laugh. The guy seemed unflappable. Ian figured that was a good quality to have as a bodyguard. And sitting here, looking at the guy with the sun from his floor to ceiling window filtering in on him, he noticed just how icy blue his eyes were. His black hair was slicked back and even though he was short, he was built. He was actually sexy as fuck.

Shaking his head of those inappropriate thoughts, he picked up his phone to call his assistant. On the first ring, he answered. “Good morning, Mr. Gallagher.”

Not in the mood for pleasantries, Ian got right down to the point of the call. “I’m ready for our meeting. Come on in.”

A couple minutes later, Tim came in, his iPad and notebook in hand. He and Mickey exchanged a look before he sat down in his usual chair opposite Ian.

“Tim, this is Mickey, my bodyguard.” He thought he saw a flash of annoyance on Mickey’s face at his derisive use of the word ‘bodyguard,’ but he didn’t say anything. “Mickey, this is Tim, my assistant.”

“Hi, Mickey, it’s nice to meet you,” Tim said cheerily as he stood up to shake his hand. “Glad to have you on board. That sure was scary what happened the other day when…..”

“Tim, would you quit your babbling and let’s get on with it? Mickey’s well aware of the situation, I assure you.” Ian lowered his voice and muttered, “Unlike certain other people.” He shot Mickey a baleful look when he noticed his eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. 

Tim obviously heard what he said as well because he started fidgeting nervously, unsure of what to do with all of the tension in the room.

“First things first, I have a video conference call at 9:00am with some Japanese investors, so make sure that’s set up and ready to go in time. What else you got?”

“I set up the weekly meeting with your leadership team at 11:00am. Will that work?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Ian responded as he started typing away on his laptop. “When is my dinner with McDougal?”

Tim clicked a couple times on his iPad before answering. “Wednesday night, 6:00pm at Bellemore.”

“I’ll be taking the company limo for that dinner, so submit a utilization request and get it signed off on. This account, if I can get it, is going to be worth all this schmoozing I’ve had to do.” Ian had been trying to get the McDougal account for the better part of six months now and he was closer than ever to closing the deal. He had worked his ass off on this, and he’d be damned if he was going to let it slip through his fingers this close to being final.

“Yes, sir, will do. Do you want me to…..”

“Um, excuse me, sir?” Mickey chimed in. Ian fixed him with a pointed glare. “Once the limo has been approved, I will need to do a safety and security check before you are transported to this dinner.”

Ian just rolled his eyes and huffed, without even glancing Mickey’s way. “Fuck, fine. Anything else, Tim?”

“I am working on making your hotel reservations for New York next month,” Tim answered.

“Oh yeah, the Luther Jackson account. So they’re not made yet? The reservations?”

“No, not yet.”

Ian scrunched up his face in annoyance. “So, why are you telling me? Get the shit done, then give me the details once they’re finalized. Anything else?”

“Um, no, nothing else.”

“Then get out of here so I can prepare for my conference call.”

Without another word, Tim hurried out of his office with a nod toward Mickey as he left. Ian did his best to get down to work and concentrate, but the whole time he kept seeing Mickey out of the corner of his eye, and it was fucking distracting. How was he ever going to get any work done and continue being the badass CEO that he was with this guy always in his face?

__________________________________

At 6:15pm, Ian gathered his things to get ready to leave the office. It was quiet since everybody else had already gone home. Ian was worn out and all he wanted to do was go home and crash. He didn’t even feel like going to the Fairy Tail that night, so he knew he must be tired.

“Mickey, I’m headed home. I will see you in the morning.” Ian opened his door to leave but Mickey stopped him.  
“Where is your car, Mr. Gallagher?”

“What the fuck do you mean, where is my car?” Ian asked, confused.

“I have to do a security check on it every day before you get in it, sir.”

“Oh my god, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Ian retorted. 

“No sir, and I will need to accompany you home and do a sweep at your place before you enter as well. Every day. It’s what was agreed upon by your board.”

“My HOME?! Fuck no, you’re not coming to my damn house, Milkovich. You can forget it!”

“Look, man,” Mickey said as he ran his thumbnail across his eyebrow. “I get that you were blindsided by all this, I really do. It’s not the first time I’ve had a client that wasn’t happy with my presence. But I need this job, so please just let me do it.”

The look Mickey gave Ian almost made him feel bad for the guy which was weird because Ian never felt bad for anybody. He was an asshole and damn proud of it. But there was something about this guy that made him relent. Fuck he hoped he wasn’t going soft. “Look, Ian acquiesced, “I’ll tell them you did the sweep, how about that? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” Ian couldn’t give two shits what his board knew or didn’t know at the moment since they liked to make decisions that affected his whole life without him. Fuck them.

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” Mickey shook his head firmly.

Ian grunted loudly. He was tired from his day and not in the mood to argue with his damn bodyguard. “Okay, man. Fine, whatever.” He swatted his hand through the air for emphasis. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

__________________________________

Ian’s silver Porsche flew down the I-90 expressway as Mickey sat stewing in the passenger seat, every once in a while cutting his eyes at his boss. He couldn’t believe what a pompous asshole the guy was. He had worked for his share of pricks, but this guy had them all beat. And it wasn’t just him, from what Mickey could see so far, he was pretty much a dickhead to everybody. What had made this guy so damn hard? What really pissed Mickey off was how attracted to him he was. Mickey had stolen glances at him briefly and noticed his square jaw and soft lips, the way his hair was shaved on the sides but long on top. The guy was beautiful, but the way he carried himself, it was obvious he knew it.

But what Mickey knew for sure was that if they were going to work together, they had to have some kind of rapport. Mickey had to assure Ian that he was trustworthy. No matter how much of a jackass he was. They weren’t ever going to be best friends, but Mickey had to do something to break the tension that existed between them.

Mickey cleared his throat. “So, where did you grow up?”

Ian lowered the volume on the radio that was playing some eighties love song bullshit. Even the guy’s taste in music was douchey. “What?”

“I said, where did you grow up?”

“Why do you want to know that?” Ian asked, looking perplexed. Mickey glanced at his profile in time to see his chin jut out in annoyance.

“Just making conversation, sir,” Mickey tried.

“Just what are you trying to do? Be my friend or some shit?” Ian snickered. “Well, newsflash. I don’t need friends, okay? And if I did, I sure wouldn’t be friends with my bodyguard. Jesus.”

Mickey put his hands up in surrender. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

This was going to be harder than Mickey thought. This guy was fucking Fort Knox. Mickey was just going to have to try another tactic. God, why did the man have to be so sexy? If he was a wrinkled old geezer or something he could deal with it. Fuck knows he had worked for plenty of those. But being attracted to his protectee was an extremely bad idea that had had dire consequences once before, and Mickey wasn’t going to let that happen again. He needed this job too much, his brother and sister needed him to keep this job too much. He wasn’t going to do anything to fuck it up.

Besides, the guy was a dick so that made him ugly, right? At least that’s what Mickey kept telling himself until he glanced over quickly again and noticed the way his biceps strained against his pressed white shirt. Fuck. Mickey ran his forefinger and thumb along his brows nervously.

Okay, so work. Maybe he could talk to Ian about work. Maybe he’d be more open to talking about that. “So, how long have you worked for Trustmark?”

“Look, dude, I’m not going to…..”

Before Ian could finish his sentence, there was a loud pop and what sounded like a whoosh of air, and Mickey looked over to see Ian struggling to control the steering wheel as the car began veering across the lanes of the freeway. 

“What the fuck just happened?!” Ian yelled as he tried to maneuver through the traffic.

“Sounds like you had a blowout, pull over to the right,” Mickey instructed.

“I’m trying! Fuck!”

The car was making an awful scraping noise and Mickey knew the sooner they get the car stopped the better. Mickey looked behind them to make sure he had clearance to get over. “Come on, man, you’re good, pull over!”

“I’m pulling over! Stop telling me what to do!” Ian bellowed.

Since Mickey was looking out his passenger window, he rolled his eyes at the stubborn driver. “You got it, you got it,” Mickey encouraged as they finally made it to the shoulder and the car slowed to a stop. “Put your emergency brake on and turn on your hazards.”

“If you don’t stop bossing me around….” Ian said through gritted teeth. “I know what the fuck to do. I cannot believe this shit is happening.”

Mickey ignored Ian’s ire and got out of the car to look at the damage. The tire on the front passenger side was totally blown. Just like his first day working for Ian Gallagher.

Mickey looked up to see what was taking him so long, and found him still sitting in the driver’s seat looking confused. He walked over and leaned into the car. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Ian snapped. “Just looking for something….” Ian stated unsurely.

Mickey knew exactly what he was looking for. “Your hazards are right here,” Mickey pointed out while he pushed the button. “Come on, we need to get your spare out.”

Mickey walked to the front of the car, leaving a grunting, highly pissed off redhead to follow him. Served him right, the prick. He could stand to be taken down a peg or two. “Pop your trunk.”

Ian yanked the keys from his pocket angrily and pressed hard on the key faub. Mickey opened the trunk and started searching for the spare tire and jack with no luck. “Do you have a spare tire? A jack? A lug wrench?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Ian huffed.

Mickey scoffed and continued searching until he finally found what he was looking for. “Got it,” Mickey announced as he pulled out everything he needed and carried it over to the blown out tire. The traffic continued to speed by, the air whooshing around them with each vehicle that passed.

As Mickey got into position to start working, he was stopped by Ian’s voice beside him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Mickey tipped his head back to look at him. “I’m changing the tire.” He looked at Ian like he had grown two heads.

“No the fuck you’re not. I can do it. Move.” Ian shoved him lightly in his shoulder, prompting Mickey to stand up.

“Go for it, Michelin Man,” Mickey muttered to himself.

“What did you say?” Ian glared at him with his steely green eyes that Mickey could make out even in the dark of night.

“I said, ‘Of course you can,’ sir,” Mickey lied. Ian gave him a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it but thankfully didn’t say anything else about it.

Instead he bent down to get to work on his car, rolling up his sleeves, because God forbid he get his fancy Armani or whatever the fuck shirt dirty. Mickey crossed his arms over his chest and watched with curiosity. The first thing he did was position the jack under the car. Oh, hell no he isn’t…..

The next thing he did was use the lug wrench to start pumping the jack. Oh, hell yes he is…..fuck. Mickey would rather have gouged his eyes out at that moment than correct his new boss because he knew how that was going to be received, but he also knew he was ready to get this shit done and get the fuck home and forget about his sexy dickhead boss.

“Um, you’re supposed to…..”

“Do I tell you how to do bodyguard shit?” Ian turned and snapped on him, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I’m a goddamn CEO, I think I can change a fucking tire. You just stick to what you do best. Stand there, keep your mouth shut, and do nothing.”

Mickey put his hands up in surrender and thanked the stars above his head that Ian couldn’t read his thoughts at that moment. The way this was going, they were going to be here all night. Just fucking great.

But for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Mickey bit his tongue and let Ian continue fucking up the changing of the tire. He grimaced as he watched Ian continue pumping up the jack. After several minutes, he got done and Mickey braced himself for the cussing he knew he was about to hear. He placed the lug wrench on the first lug nut and braced his hands on either end of it to give it a hard tug and when he did, the tire just spun uncontrollably as the wrench fell and clanged loudly on the asphalt underneath him.

“What the fuck?” Mickey could see the confused look on his face from where he was standing. Then he saw the realization hit him. “Goddammit!” Ian yelled as he stood up and sighed heavily in frustration.

He immediately turned on Mickey. “You smug bastard, you knew that was going to happen.”

“Sir," Mickey began, trying to keep calm, "I was trying to explain how you had to loosen the lug nuts first before you jacked the car up, but you asked me to be quiet so I did.” Mickey voice was dripping with fake sweetness when what he really wanted to do was to tell the guy to go fuck himself.

“Well, since you’re such a fucking expert, why don’t you change the tire yourself?” Ian groused. “I’ve got to make some calls anyway and now I’ve got a fucking headache.” Ian walked around to the driver’s side, unlocked it, and jumped in, leaving Mickey out in the cold, night air by himself.

Mickey picked up the lug wrench off the ground with the fleeting thought of how good it would feel to pound it into the redhead’s skull, before dutifully putting it back in the jack to lower the car back down cussing under his breath the whole time.


	4. Chapter Four

“Yo, douchebags!” Mickey called as he entered the Milkovich house. He took off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door, sighing contently. It was so good to finally be home. Between having to go to Ian Gallagher’s pussy pad on the North Side, then riding the El all the way back to the South Side, he had to practically stop himself from kneeling down and kissing the filthy linoleum floor. Their shitty house on Trumball Avenue wasn’t much, but it was theirs, and the greatest thing about it was that it was minus one Terry Milkovich.

He made a beeline to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, wasting no time popping the top and taking a much needed swig.

It was unusually quiet in the house, the only noise coming from the television in the living room. Mickey made his way over to the couch, putting his beer on the coffee table and plopping down tiredly, resting his head on the back of the couch. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he reflected on his first day with his new client.

The guy was a complete asshole, that fact had been established. Mickey couldn’t believe that he was forced to work for a stuck up prick like Ian Gallagher. Mickey had worked with his fair share of douchebags, but this guy took the cake. It was only his first day and Mickey already wanted to strangle him. The only problem with that was, when he imagined strangling him, it usually morphed into some kinky sex scene that Mickey conjured up in his mind then quickly squashed. How could somebody so sexy be such an absolute dickhead? Mickey wished he could at least say that his attitude made him ugly or some stupid shit, but he couldn’t. Nothing the son of a bitch did could ever make him fucking ugly.

“Ay, when did you get home?” Iggy asked as he walked in to the kitchen. Mickey turned his head to watch his brother as he grabbed a can of beans from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer. He opened the beans and threw the top on the counter haphazardly before walking over and sitting down on the couch next to Mickey, digging in to his dinner.

Mickey shook his head at his brother’s disgusting eating habits. “Just a few minutes ago,” Mickey said, a yawn escaping his lips.

“Oh, well, I was rubbing one out in the bathroom, so I didn’t hear you come in,” Iggy explained with a shrug and a mouthful of cold beans.

“What the fuck, Igg?” Mickey contorted his face in disgust. “I could’ve gone the rest of my whole fucking life without knowing that.”

“So how was Mr. Moneybags?” Iggy asked, ignoring Mickey’s bitching.

Mickey sighed, annoyed to be reminded of Ian fucking Gallagher. Mickey had told his siblings about his new assignment as soon as he had gotten home from his meeting with Malloy. They were all excited about the news and that Mickey would be able to be around more. Little did Mickey know that he would end up working for Satan in an Armani suit.

“Put it this way, I’d give my left nut to shove the bastard’s silver spoon so far up his ass that it came out of his mouth. Does that answer your question?”

Iggy didn’t even look up from stuffing his face as he answered, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“You are disgusting, you know that?” Mickey groused. “Couldn’t you at least heat the shit up first?”

“I was hungry,” Iggy answered simply. “Excuse the hell out of me. Not all of us can eat dinner at fancy five star restaurants with cloth napkins and Maître D’s and whatever the fuck.” The image of Mickey on the shoulder of the I-90 expressway changing his boss’s tire as said boss sat in the driver’s seat yelling on his cell phone flitted through his head, causing him to shake his head and laugh at the irony.

What’s so fucking funny?” Iggy asked as he put his empty can on the coffee table, the spoon clanging against the side of it.

“Nothing, Igg. It’s nothing.” Mickey waved his hand, hoping his brother would drop the subject. The last thing he wanted to do was relive any part of his day with Ian fucking Gallagher, especially not that part. And not with Iggy. All he would do was give Mickey shit about kissing the boss’s ass or something and Mickey was not in the mood to hear it. He was still pissed at himself for not telling the man where the fuck he could stick that goddamn lug wrench. 

Mickey was suddenly reminded of the main reason why he didn’t, and his brow furrowed in worry. “How is she?” Mickey asked softly.

Iggy turned toward his brother and put his arm up on the back of the couch, picking beans out of his teeth with his tongue. Fucking gross.

Iggy absentmindedly played with a loose strand on one of the couch cushions, not meeting Mickey’s eyes. “She’s okay. Just tired. Today was pretty rough on her.”

“She in her bedroom?”

“Yep,” Iggy nodded.

“I’m going to go check on her,” Mickey stated as he pushed himself up off the couch with a groan. He stretched where he stood and yawned again.

“Fucking old man,” Iggy mumbled with a smirk as he found the TV remote and started surfing.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Mickey retorted as he gave him the finger.

He turned to make his way down the hall to his sister’s bedroom as he heard Iggy call behind him. “With a silver spoon!”

He smiled in spite of himself. Dumbass. He came to Mandy’s closed bedroom door and knocked lightly.

“Come in,” Mandy called weakly from the other side.

Mickey squared his shoulders and took a deep breath in, turning the doorknob on its release. Mandy was propped up on her pillows, leaning against her headboard. Mickey took in her pale, gaunt face and the scarf on her head where her long black hair used to be. The scarf was uniquely Mandy-black with skulls and crossbones all over it. And it was badass, just like his sister.

He had to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Mickey thought he would have been used to the seeing his sister in this condition by now, but damn, that was something you just never got used to. It never got any easier to watch somebody you love deteriorating right before your very eyes when there wasn’t a fucking thing you could do about it.

Before irrational anger could take over, he plastered a fake smile on his face and resumed his role as the annoying older brother, not the worried, concerned one. “What up, bitch?” Mickey teased. 

“About time you got home, shithead. I want to hear all about your first day with Daddy Warbucks. Come sit down.” She patted the bed beside her as Mickey made his way over to her. “First things first, was he cute?”

“Really, Mandy? That’s your first question?” Mickey snickered. “What happened to ‘was he nice?’ Did you have a good day?’ Those kinds of questions?”

“Ok,” Mandy relented as she rolled her eyes. “Was he nice? Did you have a good day? Was he cute?” Mandy was so giddy with excitement it made Mickey smile, no matter how tired he was.

“No, not really, and yes.” Mickey answered each question in order, much to his sister’s amusement. But, in typical Mandy fashion, she didn’t miss a thing, and honed in on the “no” responses.

“You didn’t have a good day? Why not? Why do you say he wasn’t nice?” Mandy asked as she affectionately rubbed his arm. Even though he didn’t tell Iggy about what a godawful first day he had, he confided unabashedly with his little sister. He told her all about what had happened. She listened intently as he regaled her with every painful memory of his shitty day.

Mickey and Iggy were close, but it was nothing compared to the relationship he had with Mandy. She was his heart and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. The three of them were all each other had and they clung to each other like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry, Mick,” Mandy said sympathetically.” Want me to go down there and kick his little queer ass for you?”

“Jesus, Mandy…..”

“Hey,” Mandy exclaimed as she pointed a thin, index finger at him. “Nobody messes with my big brother.”

Mickey screwed his face up in contempt. “So, what? You’re going to go down there, kick his ass, get me fired, and get your ass thrown in jail?”

“No,” Mandy drawled, “First, I’m going to grab the shiv I made out of a toothbrush, the gun you keep in your hiding place that you don’t think I know about, then I’m going to go down to his office and have a little talk with fucking fancy pants Gallagher.”

“Shut up, Mandy,” Mickey warned with absolutely no heat. He even giggled a little at her absurdity. “And you touch my fucking gun, I’ll kick your ass myself.”

“You aren’t going to do a goddamn thing to me,” Mandy stated defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Mickey didn’t even argue, because he knew it was true. Instead, he tried to change the subject.

“So how was your appointment with……”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Mandy interrupted, pointing her finger at him again. “You gotta tell me more about your answer to my ‘was he cute’ question.”

“Come on, Mandy,” Mickey grimaced, knowing full well he was fighting a losing battle with his stubborn sister, but he wasn’t giving up that easy. “I’m not telling you anything else.” Mickey crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

Mandy nodded and leaned over toward the other side of the bed and grabbed something in her hands. “That’s fine. I’ll just sit here and read my magazine.” 

Mickey looked at her quizzically. Was she really going to give him the freeze because he wouldn’t talk about how ‘cute’ his boss was? The shit he put up with from his sister.

“You know, they have the most interesting reading material at Dr. Sheehan’s office.” Mickey noticed the magazine in Mandy’s hand and wondered what the fuck she was getting at.

“Do you have a fucking point?”

Instead of answering, she opened the magazine and brought it to her face. Mickey’s mouth dropped as he glanced over and saw Ian Gallagher on the cover, staring back at him.

“What the fuck, Mandy?!” Mickey practically shrieked. “How did you get that?”

Mandy lowered the magazine to reveal the knowing smirk that was now painted on her face. “I just told you, dumbass. Dr. Sheehan’s office.”

Mickey snatched the magazine from Mandy’s hands to get a closer look. He was wearing a blue suit with a pin striped tie and was sitting in a chair with his elbows propped on his knees looking all serious and sexy as all hell. His green eyes stared back at Mickey like they could see right through him. Fuck.

As the shock of seeing his new client on the cover wore off, he finally noticed the title. “Out Magazine?”

“Yes!” Mandy exclaimed, startling Mickey. “Ian Gallagher is the most eligible gay bachelor in Chicago, according to the article.” Mandy beamed at him. “He got his MBA from Chicago University and at 29 years old, became the youngest CEO in the history of Chicago.”

“You read the fucking article?”

“You bet your sweet, gay ass I did!” Mandy retorted, yanking the magazine back from her brother. “You know I have to keep up with the gay culture shit for your sake. I saw this one and realized it was an issue I hadn’t read, and imagine my surprise when I saw Ian Gallagher’s name on the cover. And to answer my own damn question, no, he’s not cute. This man is fucking gorgeous! I got so damn excited I embarrassed the shit out of poor Iggy. Of course, he didn’t give a fuck.”

“I never thought I’d ever say these words, but you need to be more like Iggy. Who gives a shit about the guy? He’s just a client.” Mickey tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach over the revelation that his new boss was gay. No, he decided, it had to be hunger pains. Mickey hadn’t had a chance to eat dinner with the shit show that happened with Gallagher and that’s all it was, he was hungry.

“He’s hot, he’s gay, and he’s rich, Mickey,” Mandy ticked her points off on her fingers. “Did I mention he’s rich?”

“Did I mention I don’t give a fuck? He’s a giant asshole, Mandy. Plus, there’s the little issue of him being my boss!” Mickey yelled, emphasizing the word ‘boss.’

“I know, Mick. I’m just looking out for you. You’re not going to work for the guy forever, right? And all you do anymore is bring a bunch of randoms home for a quick fuck and then push them out the door before the condom comes off. And let’s face it, this guy is prime gay real estate,” Mandy pointed out as she tapped the cover of the magazine, hitting Ian right in his firm chest. Fuck. “You haven’t had a serious relationship since……”

“Look,” Mickey snapped, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I’m not starting anything up with my new fucking client, Mandy. Have you lost your mind? He may be a pretty face and a nice body, but he’s a huge prick who hates my guts and resents the fact that I’m even there and doesn’t have any problem showing it. He’s just my boss, okay? I’m not going there again. Not after what happened the last time.”

“Mickey,” Mandy spoke gently as she placed her hand on his knee. “That wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could…..”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Okay, okay.” Mandy put her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Mickey was relieved that his sister had finally gotten the hint and dropped the subject. He had a hell of a day and the last thing he wanted to do was drudge up painful memories of his past. He would much rather hear about her day. Feeling like an ass for snapping on his sister, he softened his expression that had gone hard with all the Gallagher talk, and took his sister’s hand in his. Her skin was ice cold to the touch, Mickey noticed, so he entwined his fingers with hers in an attempt to warm her up. “So, how did today go?”

Mandy sighed, pulling her blanket further up on her chest. Mickey used his free hand to help her and tuck the blanket in all around her, making sure her feet were completely covered. “Well, it sucked, to be honest. The fucking nurse took the tape off of my picc line site to clean it, but didn’t re-tape it so my picc line literally pulled out of my arm while the chemo was going in. And since it wasn’t done, they had to completely remove the picc line and do an IV so I could finish the infusion. And that sadistic bitch must have thought I was a damn pin cushion or something because she poked on me I don’t know how many times until they finally found a usable vein on the bottom of my arm.”

Mandy turned her arm over to show Mickey, and he gasped at the huge purple and yellow bruise he saw there. “Fuck, that looks like it hurt.”

“It hurt like a son of a bitch,” Mandy assured. “I called her a few choice words.”

“I hope you did,” Mickey smirked. “Fucking bitch. Are you going to get another picc line?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Mandy answered as she yawned. Mickey didn’t miss the hint of fear that passed across Mandy’s face that she tried her best not to show. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Mickey did. The picc line insertion process was a painful one, Mickey remembered, and he hated the fact that because of the clinic’s fuck up, she had to endure that shit yet again. He had half a mind to go up there himself and give them a Milkovich-style beat down.

“Do you need me to come up there?” Mandy’s eyes locked with Mickey’s. She knew exactly what he meant, taking in his raised eyebrows and determined look.

“No, Mick. It’s fine. Besides, you have to work.” Mandy patted his hand reassuringly.

“Fuck that, you know I’ll come up there and kick somebody’s ass.”

“I know, brother. It’s fine, I promise.”

Mickey tilted his head, bringing his hand up to brush his fingers lightly over the spot where the picc line used to be. “Are they going to put it in this same spot?” Mickey asked, noticing the redness. It looked a little infected, which worried Mickey. Infections for a chemo patient were bad fucking news.

“I don’t know, probably wherever they can find a vein. You know my veins are all shot to shit anyway.”

Mickey did know. He knew that chemo was hell on the veins, which added to Mickey’s worry. He didn’t want his sister to be treated like some damn voodoo doll.

Mandy was diagnosed with leukemia about a year ago after she kept getting bruises that wouldn’t heal and had shortness of breath. She was in the hospital for a little over a month getting daily chemo treatments. After she was released, she had to continue her chemo treatments at the infusion clinic.

Iggy has been taking her every day to the clinic, making Mickey feel like shit that the only real contribution he’d made to their situation had been his insurance. Mandy and Iggy were both on his health insurance which cost out the ass, but it was well worth it, especially with everything that had happened with Mandy. Iggy never complained, and luckily his job at the pizza place he worked let him take the night shifts so he could drive her.

But maybe now with him being home, he could help out more, take Mandy to appointments, the pharmacy, whatever she needed. He could finally feel like he was actually helping and stop feeling like a useless piece of shit.

Through it all, Mandy had been a trooper. She was one of the strongest people Mickey had ever known, and he couldn’t be prouder of her. He had no idea what she was going through, but fuck, it couldn’t have been easy. Cancer was a nightmare both physically and mentally, a horrible, senseless disease. 

Mandy had an appointment with her oncologist next week to have blood tests done to check her prognosis. She had responded well to the last round of chemo treatments but she was far from out of the woods. Her counts had gone up only slightly so they had a long way to go still. Mickey planned on being there at the appointment like he had been at every other appointment with Dr. Sheehan. He idly hoped that Mr. Gallagher didn’t give him any shit about it.

Mickey placed his hand on Mandy’s forehead, her skin cold and clammy underneath his touch. He leaned over to place a kiss where his hand had been before standing to leave. “I’m going to hit the sack, sis. Do you need anything?”

“I’m good, big brother, “she breathed. Mandy’s shallow breaths made Mickey’s skin prickle with worry. He watched her closely as her breathing slowed and finally evened out, her heavy eyelids succumbing to exhaustion and she was out within a few seconds. He reached down and grabbed the blankets draped over chest and pulled them up until they were just under her chin.

Mickey kissed her lightly on her forehead one more time before leaving her room and closing the door quietly behind him. He assumed Iggy had turned in since he wasn’t in the living room and the TV and all of the lights were out. Mickey shuffled to his room, stripped down to his boxers, and fell on his bed with a thud. Like his sister, he was out within seconds.

____________________________________-

Across town, on the North Side of Chicago, Ian Gallagher sat in his modern penthouse apartment, lounging on the couch with a blunt in one hand and a beer in the other, some random business news TV channel that he wasn’t paying any attention to droning on lowly in the background.

Ian was on his second joint and just as many beers, hoping like hell the two vices together would kill this feeling churning in his stomach. It was an emotion he didn’t ever experience, and quite frankly, it was freaking him the fuck out. He didn’t even bother reverting to his usual M.O. of going to the Fairy Tail and getting his rocks off with some willing twink. He was so off his game that even that thought didn’t appeal to him. He must be losing his mind. That had to be the only explanation.

He didn’t know what the hell was happening. All he knew was that when Mickey had tried to explain about the tire earlier that night and Ian had snapped on him, the brief flash of hurt that had crossed his face had stirred something in Ian and had him retreating to his car, unable to deal with whatever that look made him feel. 

So, in true Ian Gallagher fashion, he acted like an even bigger shithead to his bodyguard when they finally got back on the road and on the way to his apartment. Mickey didn’t say a word, no matter how much Ian bitched at him and ridiculed him. Ian was used to people enduring his wrath, taking it and not arguing with him. That’s just what people did, he was Ian fucking Gallagher, and no one ever crossed him. He had fired people on the spot before who had dared to challenge him. 

But something about the way Mickey looked at him, those blue eyes sparkling with a hint of sadness in them, made Ian reflect on how he acted and made him feel the one thing he had never allowed to encroach on his life, business or personal: guilt. It was like a festering wound that kept eating at him that just would not go away and it was pissing Ian off.

Even the fear he felt but kept deeply hidden over his anonymous caller who had threatened his damn life had not affected him this much. That was scary, no doubt about that-not that Ian would ever admit to that-but this feeling was much scarier. It humanized him and made him seem decent, which he knew neither were true.

So Ian sat there, stewing in his annoyance at himself. It’s all he could do. It’s not like he had anybody he could call to talk shit out with. He had no friends, since his job pretty much solidified his belief that you couldn’t trust anybody, couldn’t let anybody get too close. There was too much at stake, too much to lose to risk it by allowing emotions to be involved.

Ian hadn’t spoken to his family in Canaryville since he had gone off to college and made his way in the world. His sister, Fiona had pretty much raised him and his siblings since their mother, Monica, was a bipolar drug addict and their father, Frank, was a lying, narcissistic alcoholic who spent his days coming up with his latest scam to swindle his victims out of whatever they had that he wanted at the time.

Hell, maybe that’s part of the reason Ian was the way he was now-guilt wasn’t in the Gallagher’s vocabulary. Living on the South Side, you got shit done by any means necessary and didn’t feel any remorse whatsoever about it.

Ian was in the middle in age, the forgotten Gallagher. Liam was the youngest, the cute one. Debbie was the young caretaker, looking out for her family even at her age. Carl was the young badass with sociopathic tendencies that had Fiona making frequent trips to the school to try to talk her way out of whatever current trouble he found himself in. Lip was the smart one, the one with the most promise of getting out of the South Side.

Ian had always accepted his role as the invisible sibling, the one who never caused any trouble but didn’t stand out for anything. Until one day, after a particularly vicious fight with a horribly drunk Frank, it had become too much for him to bear. He was fed up with not being noticed, his family not seeming to care about him until Frank needed someone to blame his shit life on. For some reason, that person always seemed to be Ian.

He had just graduated high school with fairly decent grades and decided then and there he was going to make something of himself and get the fuck out of the South Side once and for all.

So he did-he enrolled at Chicago University and stayed in the dorms on campus thanks to some grants he applied for. He left his family and his previous life behind and never looked back. He had worked diligently, the painful memories of his past spurring him on, determination to never be like that again. Now, he had all the money, power, and success he could ever want. He had won. 

So why was he sitting here worrying about hurting the feelings of some high-priced rent-a-cop? What the fuck was wrong with him? He wasn’t about to start going soft, that shit just wasn’t going to happen.

Jumping up from the couch and swaying a little at first from the booze and the weed, Ian strode to his makeshift gym in the guest room of his apartment, preparing to pound the treadmill and sweat out his frustration at himself and get back his CEO mojo. He had made up his mind before he even stepped foot up on the machine that he wasn’t going to allow Mickey Milkovich to get to him, and if Mickey thought Ian was the biggest egotistical asshole he had ever seen, which he probably did, he hadn’t seen anything yet.


	5. Chapter Five

“You’re late.”

Mickey stood at the door of Ian Gallagher’s fancy ass North Side apartment, meeting his icy green stare with bloodshot eyes. Mickey hadn’t slept good, tossing and turning all night. He was worried about Mandy, and about asking off for her appointment coming up, knowing from Gallagher’s already less than sunny mood how that conversation was going to go.

He also spent an annoyingly large amount of time thinking about what Mandy had said. He loved his sister more than anything, but sometimes she could be a nagging bitch. Why was she so hellbent on thinking Mickey needed to be in a relationship? He had no problem going to the club, finding a willing partner and taking him home and letting the guy fuck his brains out. Especially now that he was home and had a lot more free time to fuck some stranger whenever he wanted. If he was fine with it, why couldn’t she just let it go?

Mickey hadn’t been in a real relationship for three years now, not since…..no, Mickey wasn’t going there. He tried not to let himself think about what happened, even though every now and then, the guilt and regret would once again consume him until he found a good-looking guy to fuck it out of his system.

It was all water under the fucking bridge, as they say. And why the hell would she even think he would consider starting something up with his boss? Even if he did want to have a relationship, which he didn’t, Ian Gallagher would be the last fucker on Earth he would want to have one with. The guy was an asshole to the thousandth degree. A pretty face and a nice body could only do so much. Mickey wasn’t going to admit that some of his sleeplessness was spent jerking off while imagining just what they could do to him. Fuck, he needed to get laid. And fast.

So with all that ruminating going on in his head, Mickey didn’t get to sleep until after 3AM causing him to sleep through his alarm, which meant he didn’t have time to grab his usual morning coffee and he really wasn’t in the mood for his boss’ shit right now.

Mickey scoffed internally while his boss checked his gaudy, expensive watch. He checked his own much less expensive one and noted the time. 7:02AM. _You have got to be fucking kidding me. _

As if reading his thoughts, Ian sneered, “When I say be here at 7:00AM, I mean 7:00AM. Not 7:02. Got it?”

Mickey was suddenly thankful that his hands were in his coat pockets so Ian couldn’t see the double finger salute he was currently giving him. “Sorry, I’m late. I missed my….”

“Save it!” Ian snapped as he put his hand up to stop Mickey from explaining. “You’ve already made me late for my first meeting and now I have to wait for you to do your stupid security shit on my car.”

Ian placed his bag on his shoulder roughly as he released an annoyed sigh. Mickey couldn’t help but notice that even with how pissed he was, Ian was still beautiful, that shock of red hair contrasting with the green dress shirt and tie he wore. Mickey wondered idly just what all was hiding under that expensive suit named after some famous fuckhead designer. Realizing he was treading into dangerously inappropriate territory, Mickey refocused his attention on what his boss had said.

“No, sir, I have already done the security check.” Mickey decided it best to go ahead and get that shit over with without his boss looming over him impatiently and he realized now, looking at the derisive way Ian was looking at him, that his instincts were right.

That bit of news didn’t seem to placate his boss at all, tension still radiating off of him. The guy was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. Mickey smiled at the irony of his thoughts until Ian interrupted them. “What’s so damn funny?”

Mickey immediately fixed his expression, wiping the smile off his face. “Nothing. I apologize for being late, it won’t happen again.”

Ian slammed the door of his apartment, the sound echoing in the silent hallway. “I should hope not. Not if you want to keep your job.”

And with that, Ian strode off toward the bank of elevators with Mickey following close behind him. Yeah it was going to be a long fucking day.

_____________________________________________

Ian was pissed. But he wasn’t pissed off for the reasons he wanted to be, and that in turn pissed him off even more. Ian had made up his mind to stick to his plan to be a complete hard ass to his new employee, determined to exert his power and show him who had the upper hand. He wasn’t really late, hell it was only two minutes past the time Mickey was supposed to be there. And he didn’t even have any meetings until later that morning, but he wasn’t about to let his bodyguard know that.

But as soon as he opened his front door and saw Mickey’s bleary eyes and pale skin, his whole plan was shot to shit and Ian instantly felt unwanted concern bubbling up inside him. Why did Mickey look like he hadn’t slept a wink? If he hadn’t, what had kept him up? Ian was used to only getting maybe four hours of sleep a night, usually working long into the early morning hours. But not everybody could do that. Mickey had obviously had a bad night and Ian wanted so bad to ask him about it. What the hell was wrong with him?

Which was why he shifted automatically into defensive mode and began acting irately toward him. There was no way he was going to let Mickey know about the effect he was having on Ian. Hell, what was it about this guy that made Ian feel all these things he wasn’t used to feeling? He didn’t even know this guy and wasn’t planning on getting to know him. Ian had to get his shit together and stop being such a pussy.

But even in doing that, Ian still couldn’t deny how hot the guy was. His black hair was slicked back, every strand in place. He was wearing a leather jacket over his three piece suit which brought the suit up a few degrees in hotness. Black pants that fit him just right with a black suit jacket and royal blue shirt with matching tie had Ian fighting the urge to scan his eyes up and down the man’s body. The royal blue of the shirt brought out the blue in his eyes, despite how sleepy he looked.

All this combined was only serving to prolong Ian’s shitty mood. He had to get the control he felt slipping from his hands back somehow. He decided that a company walk through was in order. When he got to work, he would do a surprise visit to various departments. That always cheered Ian up, seeing his employees squirm under his scrutiny, his intimidation tactics in full force. Reminding himself just who the fuck he was and forget about his blue-eyed bodyguard.

____________________________________

When Ian and Mickey showed up at the office, the lead investigator on his case, Detective Ingram, was waiting on him at Tim’s desk. Just fucking great. He had already talked to the guy until he was blue in the face and told him everything he knew. What the fuck did he want now? Maybe there was a break in the case and all of this shit would soon be over. 

He showed the detective to his office so they could talk, but not before Mickey checked the place first. Ian rolled his eyes in annoyance as Mickey did his check. He would be so glad when things could go back to normal and he could do his job without all of these inconveniences.

“All clear,” Mickey announced as he stepped outside Ian’s office. 

“Fucking finally,” Ian muttered as he nodded for the detective to follow him. They walked in and Ian slammed the door behind him, ready to get this shit over with.

_______________________________________

Mickey nodded at Ian’s assistant as he took a seat in front of his desk and sipped on his coffee. The young man returned his nod before going back to typing away on his computer keyboard, his eyes focused on the screen. He was a young guy, probably in his early 20’s with light brown hair and green eyes. He seemed to radiate nervous energy, no doubt a result of having to work for such a tyrant as Gallagher.

Mickey wondered what this guy thought about his boss. Mickey knew from his company’s research that Tim had worked for Ian for about three months. That was enough time to gain some insight, right? Mickey tried not to think about the reason why he even cared. His curiosity was clearly borne out of frustration with his new boss, and nothing more.

“So,” Mickey began, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, “what’s his deal, huh?”

Tim immediately quit typing and folded his hands in front of him, his eyebrows shooting up as his eyes focused on the tattoos on Mickey’s knuckles. “What do you mean ‘his deal’?”

“I mean, why is he such an asshole?” Mickey asked bluntly. He almost laughed at the way the assistant’s mouth fell open.

He sputtered for a couple minutes, clearly taken aback by Mickey’s question, then finally replied sheepishly, “He’s not an asshole. He’s a great boss to work for.”

Mickey scoffed sarcastically. “Man, I’m going to need a pair of boots pretty soon if you keep this up.”

Tim shot Mickey a confused look, then looked down at his own shoes. Jesus Christ, what a fucking idiot.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asked.

Mickey just rolled his eyes. The guy clearly didn’t get sarcasm. “For all the bullshit you’re spewing.” Mickey saw a hint of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Come on, man, just between you and me.”

Tim visibly relaxed then, like the stick in his ass had been finally removed. “I honestly don’t know,” he began in a whisper. “I’ve tried to find out about him myself from other people but it’s like he’s a damn mystery that nobody can solve. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any friends, nobody’s ever heard him talk about family. I don’t think he’s in a relationship but who knows? Mark in Accounting said that he saw him at the Fairy Tail in Boystown one night and…….”

Ian swung open his office door, allowing the detective to exit. Mickey saw Tim jump out of the corner of his eye, clamp his mouth shut and quickly go back to typing away at his computer. Mickey nodded at the detective as he passed.

“I’m headed to do my rounds,” Ian announced as he stood in the doorway and grabbed his suit jacket from the coat rack and put it on. “You coming or do I get to go stag?”

Mickey stood up and put his metaphorical professional bodyguard hat back on. “I’ll need to go with you, Mr. Gallagher.”

Ian groaned audibly as he closed his office door. “Goddammit, fine. Let’s go.” Ian stopped at Tim’s desk right beside where Mickey was standing and his scent wafted into Mickey’s nose easily, causing Mickey to silently berate himself for liking it so damn much. “Send all my calls to my cell. I’m expecting McDougal to call to confirm our dinner for Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir, will do,” Tim replied obediently. When Ian turned to make his way out of the room, Mickey and Tim shared knowing smirks before Mickey followed behind him.

__________________________________________

Later that afternoon, Mickey sat against the wall of Ian Gallagher’s office listening intently to his phone conversation to determine his mood.

“Luther, you old scoundrel, you better hope Dianna doesn’t find out.” Ian leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk, one foot crossed over the other. Whoever this Luther person was on the phone must have said something awfully funny because Ian erupted in loud laughter that seemed almost genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Mickey was annoyed with how good his laugh sounded to his ears. 

“I’m sure you will,” Ian replied to whatever Luther had said. “Yes, sir, look forward to it. I know you’re just going to beat my ass again. They don’t call you the ‘racquetball master’ for nothing.” More silence as he listened to the other end. “Sounds good, Luther. We’ll talk soon.”

Ian hung up the phone and muttered, “Fucking windbag,” as he straightened up and turned back to his computer.

Mickey decided that this was a good a time as any to approach his boss about requesting time off for Mandy’s appointment. He was probably in the best mood he was going to get in.

Slowly, Mickey stood up and stepped closer to Ian’s desk. He was now writing notes in a notebook, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Mr. Gallagher?”

Ian looked up, surprise registering on his face. “What is it?”

“I had a question for you.”

Ian put his pen down and clasped his hands together. “Okay, so why don’t you ask your question instead of telling me you have one?”

Mickey’s palms were sweating and his voice shaky. He was silently kicking himself for being such a pussy. What was it about this guy? Mickey had worked for some of the most successful people in the world, this guy wasn’t anything special. He refused to let this asshole intimidate him. Besides, this was for Mandy. That thought alone gave him all the motivation he needed. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.

“My sister has a doctor’s appointment next Friday. I would like to request off that day to go with her. I have talked to my supervisor and have arranged to have a replacement come for the day.”

Ian’s eyes bore into Mickey as he seemed to be deep in thought. “How old is your sister?”

Okay, this was a good sign. Gallagher asking a personal question meant that he might actually have a heart after all. “She’s 22, four years younger than me.”

“So, seeing that she is 22 years old, she is more than old enough and capable to go to the doctor all by herself, now isn’t she? Besides, last time I checked, doctor’s appointments didn’t last all day.”

Mickey felt the heat rising up on the back of his neck as his anger took over. Through clenched teeth, he added, “She has leukemia, and the appointment is to…..”

“Look, Mickey,” Ian sighed. “You were hired to do a job. I didn’t even want you, but apparently I got outvoted. You haven’t even been here a week and already you’re asking for time off? No, I don’t think so. Your request is denied.”

Ian went back to writing his notes as the wheels in Mickey’s brain started turning, thinking of his options for finding work because he was fairly certain that he was about to lose this job. He loved his sister, he really did, and he would find something else or die trying. But there was no way in hell he was going to subject himself to this son of a bitch’s attitude anymore. He was fucking fed up.

Mickey slammed his palms flat on the man’s desk. Ian looked up at him, puzzled, as Mickey’s angry blue eyes stared straight into his green. “Look here, fuck face. You may have everybody else scared of you, but I’m not. You’re an asshole and I wouldn’t piss on you if your ass was on fucking fire. So you can find somebody else to put up with your bullshit! I’m fucking done!”

Mickey turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him, marching straight past a flabbergasted Tim. He took the stairs, in no mood to wait for the slow as fuck elevators, and walked out of the building without looking back.

__________________________

Mickey sat in a corner booth at his favorite South Side grease pit, Patsy’s Pies, his leg bouncing nervously as his steaming cup of coffee sat on the table in front of him untouched. He had jumped on the L and high-tailed it back to the South Side as soon as he left his former boss’s building. He needed to think and get the hell out of the North Side since that life was no longer his anymore. He already felt like an intruder in that world, an outsider. But he couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not until he had some kind of a plan, not until he figured out what the fuck he was going to do next. 

He stared off into space, biting his fingernails down to the quick. His adrenaline had long receded and had been replaced with crippling fear. What the fuck had he just done? What the hell was he going to do now? What had possessed him to fuck up the one good thing he had going in his life? He could tell himself he did it for Mandy, which was true, but in the span of a few seconds, he had ruined her chance at getting the best care possible because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut and his South Side attitude in check. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what had gotten into him.

All he knew was that he had to find another job, one that had good benefits. But the only thing he was trained in was cracking skulls. He didn’t know how to do anything else. He barely had a high school degree-who was going to hire a former thug from the South Side? He’d never find another job making the money he was making as a bodyguard.

And he refused to go back to his past life of going on runs with his brothers to make money. He wasn’t about that life anymore. With Terry gone, rotting away in prison somewhere, thank fuck, and Colin taking off to fuck knows where, Iggy and Mickey had gotten out of the world Terry had ensnared them in and they never planned on returning to it. No matter what. 

The only thing Mickey knew for sure right now was that he was fucked. And his family was fucked. And it was all his fault…..

“You ready to order, Mickey?” the waitressed asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

She was pretty, her chestnut hair in a ponytail, a friendly smile lighting up her face. She was usually here whenever Mickey came in, which hadn’t been for months since he had been working out of town, and he was surprised that she had remembered his name. One day a few months back, after Mickey was done with his meal and paid with his credit card, he accidentally left it on the table, and she ran after him to give it back. And ever since then she had called him by his name. 

Mickey glanced at the Patsy’s Pies logo emblazoned on her shirt, slightly embarrassed that he had to scan his eyes down to her name tag right below it that read “Fiona.” 

Mickey looked down at the menu he hadn’t even noticed until now, scanning it quickly before answering. “Yeah, Fiona, give me an order of banana pancakes, bacon, eggs sunny side up, and a bowl of grits. “ Mickey threw his menu down on the table unceremoniously. “And throw a piece of cherry pie on there too.”

The waitress’s eyes widened dramatically as she grabbed his menu and tucked it under her arm. “One heart attack special comin’ up,” she teased.

Mickey snickered despite his shitty mood. “Well, I just got fired and this will probably be the last time I can afford to eat out, so I’m going out with a fucking bang.” Why the hell did he say that? This woman doesn’t care about his problems. And since when did he start telling a virtual stranger his fucking business?

She tilted her head as her eyebrows furrowed in sympathy, her smile disappearing. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Mickey.”

Mickey just nodded, not really sure what to say. 

“Was it a layoff?”

Mickey shook his head, debating on how much to tell her. “No, my asshole boss just pushed me too far and I let him have it. Redheaded prick motherfucker.” Seeing Fiona’s eyebrows shoot up, he muttered a terse, “Sorry.”

“No, you’re fine,” Fiona assured, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “I know all about asshole bosses.” She nodded her head toward the front counter where the guy Mickey recognized as the manager of the place was barking orders at the wait staff. 

“Order up, Fiona! Get the molasses out of your ass!” the man suddenly called out. 

“Well, I think that’s my cue.” Fiona smirked as she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back with your order. And it’s on me.” Before Mickey could protest, she winked at him and turned to make her way behind the counter.

________________________

Mickey was wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk after leaving Patsy’s, lost in thought, when he felt his phone buzzing in his coat pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen. Shit, it was Malloy. He froze in place right where he was. He stood there, just staring at the phone, unable to do anything as people bumped into him, hurling curses at him. Mickey was expecting the call, of course, but that still didn’t make receiving it any less daunting. 

Answering the call meant the end of his career, the end of life as he knew it. Once he hit that “Accept” button, everything he had worked for and everything he had accomplished would be gone.

With his trembling hand hovering over the button, he took a deep, shaky breath, and swiped right.

“Hello?”

“Milkovich, how’s it going?”

_Not too good considering you’re about to fire my ass, you fat fuck. _“Uh, it’s going, I guess.” What the hell was he supposed to say? He figured it didn’t really matter now since he was about to get canned anyway. 

“I just got a call from Ian Gallagher.” Oh fuck, here we go. This was it. Mickey shut his eyes tight, and tilted his head back, as if that would make the news any less bearable to hear.

“Oh, is that right?” Mickey worked hard to keep the tremble out of his voice, swallowing down the fear that was choking him with a firm grasp.

“That’s right. He called to tell me what a good job you’ve been doing. Plus he wanted to get some information on Ellington, since he’s going to be taking your place next Friday when you go to your sister’s appointment. I was planning on briefing him before then, but the bastard beat me to it I guess.” Malloy chuckled lightly, but Mickey didn’t even hear it, still in shock over what Malloy was saying. “But anyway, just wanted to say great job with Gallagher. He’s a really nice guy, huh?”

“Uh….” Mickey was at a loss for words. Mickey was pretty sure he had heard Malloy wrong. No way did Gallagher say those things about him. That prick wouldn’t know a compliment if it bit him in the ass. Nice guy? Yeah, he’s about as nice as a boil on your ass. What the fuck was really going on? There had to be some explanation…..

“Mickey, you okay?” Malloy prompted, snapping Mickey out of his internal ramblings. 

“Yes…yes. Thank you, sir. I’m glad to hear that he’s pleased with my services.” Mickey was freaked the fuck out at the moment, so the fact he was able to form any coherent words was a fucking miracle, even if those words were utter bullshit.

Mickey heard some rustling on the other end of the phone, like Malloy was sifting through some papers. “Listen, we’ll talk later, yeah?” Malloy said distractedly. The man had no idea that he had pretty much just turned Mickey’s world on its head.

“Yes, sir,” Mickey answered blankly.

The line went dead and Mickey stood there shell-shocked, silently willing his feet to move toward the L so he could go back to work and find out just what the fuck was going on.

____________________________________________

Ian Gallagher’s hand held on to the receiver of his office phone as it sat in its cradle where he had hung up from talking to the owner of LawDog Security five minutes ago. The longer he sat there, the more confused he became about why he had made the phone call in the first place. What had possessed him to call Mickey’s boss and sing his damn praises like that? Ian didn’t do shit like that, especially for an employee who cussed him out and basically told him to fuck off.

What was it about this guy? First, he had Ian feeling guilty about the other night with the tire debacle, now he felt bad about being a shit about the sister’s doctor’s appointment. Was he finally losing his edge? His whole plan to show Mickey who the head honcho was had blown up spectacularly right in his face. 

Ian jumped up and began pacing back and forth across his office, fidgeting nervously with his tie. He pulled at the knot, but it seemed the more he pulled, the more choked he felt. He couldn’t get that look in Mickey’s eyes out of his head. The anger that was there, coupled with the love he obviously had for his sister. The combination was heady to say the least. 

No one had ever stood up to Ian like that before. If they did, they would be out on their ass faster than a bullet left a gun. Ian didn’t tolerate being disrespected by anyone, especially not a subordinate. But when Mickey did it, it was…..fucking hot. It turned Ian on beyond belief. When Mickey was in Ian’s face, his hot breath on his skin, all Ian wanted to do was throw him down on his desk and fuck his brains out. 

Was that what this was? Hell, he knew the guy was hot, he knew that the first day he started working for him. Ian had been with plenty of hot guys. But there was something about Mickey that was so intriguing, so alluring. He was even more sexy when he was pissed off. He’s deep, angry blue eyes staring into his, his cheeks flushed red from fury. Ian had glanced down when his hands were on his desk and saw the knuckle tats, which only added to his sexiness. Maybe if he fucked him, he could get whatever this was out of his system.

Ian didn’t even know for sure if Mickey was even gay, even though he thought he had seen him slyly checking him out when he thought Ian wasn’t looking. He didn’t make it a habit of mixing business with pleasure. In fact, that was usually one of his explicit rules that he did not break. He kept his fucking around out of the office at all costs. But for whatever reason, he wanted to toss out all his so-called “rules” whenever his mind wandered to all the things he wanted to do to Mickey.

But no, it was more than that. Ian was sure of it. But what he had no fucking idea. Hell, Ian knew he could walk into The Fairy Tail right this minute and have his pick of any sexy guy in the place. This was something else entirely and frankly, it scared Ian shitless. All Ian knew was that he had to make the situation right. He couldn’t just let Mickey quit like that.

But first he had to get him back here. So, he had called Malloy about Mickey in hopes that everything he said would convince Mickey to come back. Maybe he wouldn’t. He was really pissed off and something told Ian that whatever Mickey said, he meant wholeheartedly.

Ian didn’t know what the fuck was going on, what he was going to say if Mickey did show back up, all he knew was that he felt compelled to make it up to him about the way he had been acting and that freaked him the fuck out. Before he could think more on the reasons for his sudden change of heart, the door to his office creaked open slowly and Mickey Milkovich appeared, a confused scowl on his face.


	6. Chapter Six

Mickey had walked right past Tim and his imploring questions, and gone straight into Ian’s office, opening the door to find Ian pacing across his floor. What the hell? Ian immediately stopped in front of him, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. Without a word, Ian turned away from him and rounded his desk and sat down, immediately clicking furiously on his computer. 

“How was your lunch?” Ian asked suddenly, still not looking up.

“My…..um…..” Mickey stammered, still totally confused as to what the hell Ian was up to. He inched his way into the office, finally making it to his seat in the corner and sitting down slowly, deciding to go along with the farce. “My _lunch _was fine.”

Mickey’s skeptical eyes bore into Ian, willing him to look up from his damn computer. What the fuck was up with this guy? One minute, he’s treating him like some lowlife on the street, and the next minute he’s telling Malloy how good he was at his job. What the actual fuck?

“Good, that’s good,” Ian finally answered, eyes still focused on his computer screen. 

Was that really all he was going to say? Should Mickey apologize? Ian didn’t seem eager to discuss what had happened, and frankly, Mickey wasn’t either. But for some unknown reason, his boss decided to give him another chance. He figured the least he could do was show his appreciation.

Mickey thumbed his lip nervously as he began. “I appreciate what you said to Malloy, Mr. Gallagher…..”

“Look, Mickey,” Ian interrupted as he unexpectedly hoisted himself up and came around to the front of his desk and leaned against it with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes seemed to drink Mickey in, and that, along with his new, much closer proximity, left Mickey’s mouth feeling like sandpaper. “I’m…..” he began, waving his hand around like he was searching for the right words. “I’m…..sorry for how I acted about your requested time off. I should not have said those things to you and you had every right to call me out on it. It was very unprofessional of me and it won’t happen again. Okay?”

Mickey blinked a couple times, dumbfounded at what he was hearing, especially since his boss was currently looking at him like this was the first time he had ever apologized to anyone, the pride he was swallowing down choking him like jagged shards of glass. Mickey took in the beads of sweat that had formed across the red hairline above his forehead, and the nervous way he swiped at his brow every few seconds. 

On one hand, Mickey took some satisfaction in the fact that Ian was this worked up over the way he had treated him, even though he still didn’t know what had caused the change. He had been a dick to Mickey practically ever since the first day and it was so gratifying to see him squirm. 

On the other hand, it was a little unsettling, seeing Ian so out of sorts, when he always seemed to have his shit together, haughty attitude firmly in check at all times. Did Mickey ripping him a new one really make him unthaw his frozen, black heart? Not only had the biggest asshole boss in the free world not fired him, he was apologizing, however difficult that task appeared to be for him. The fact that he was even doing it had Mickey practically wanting to look up and check for the lightning that was surely about to strike him right there in that spacious office.

“Goddamn, Gallagher, I ought to cuss you out more often,” Mickey quipped with a sly smile.

“It’s Mr. Gallagher, and I wouldn’t,” Ian warned with a pointed look. “If it happens again, I will throw you out on your ass so fast it will make your head spin.”

Okay, so not completely unthawed. However, Mickey might be wrong, but he had the feeling they had come to a truce, like they had some sort of understanding between them. Regardless, he put his hands up in surrender and nodded his agreement and didn’t say another word. He had pushed his luck enough for one day.

Ian walked back around his desk, taking his seat again. But, this time, there was a small smile on his face. Damn, he was beautiful when he smiled. It happened so rarely that when it did, it was a sight to behold. Ian was swiveling toward his computer and was about to get back to work, but before he did, he glanced up at Mickey and threw him a wink. In the time it took for Mickey’s mouth to fall open slightly in shock, Ian’s smile had completely faded and he was back to concentrating on his screen with furrowed brows, making Mickey think he had imagined the whole damn thing.

____________________________________________

It was 5:30pm on Wednesday and Mickey was sitting in the back of the white Trustmark company limo, facing his boss, who was busy typing away on his cell phone, oblivious to anything going on around him. They were headed to Ian’s business dinner with McDougal at Bellemore. Bellemore was one of those fancy ass restaurants where businessmen took their clients to wine and dine them to do whatever the fuck it was they were trying to get them to do.

Mickey had done this song and dance plenty of times before, but he had never been to this particular restaurant. Although, he was sure it wasn’t much different than all the other ones-stuck up waiters in black tie attire treating him like a homeless bum off the street. Once he went in and made the arrangements for his client’s party, and it was understood that he wasn’t the high profile guest with the big bucks, he usually got ushered to another much less fancy, much less conspicuous area so as not to distract from the high rollers that were making their deals at the white-linen cloth covered tables. As long as he could still eyeball his client, he didn’t care too much. It was the way the world, particularly the business world, worked. Money talked and bullshit walked.

Ever since Ian and Mickey had had their talk, things seemed to be a little more civil between them. Ian had even cracked a smile a couple times at some smartass comment Mickey had made. The fact that Ian had even engaged him in conversation, even if it was brief, seemed to be a good sign. But Mickey knew from his meetings with various employees how important this dinner was, so he figured Ian was not in the mood for his smartass mouth, especially judging from the hard expression on his face as he continued to stare at the phone in his hand. Therefore, he was just going to keep his mouth shut, keep his head down, and do his job.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the restaurant and pulled up front. “I’ll be right back, sir. I’m going to assure the arrangements are in place,” Mickey announced as he opened his door.

Ian finally looked up. “Thanks, Mickey.” He went right back to his screen, his face scrunched in concentration.

Mickey made his way inside the restaurant. The young, blonde, snooty hostess with her pressed white shirt and black vest looked him up and down. Even though he had a nice three piece suit on, her eyes automatically zeroed in on his knuckle tattoos and she immediately turned up her nose at him. She clearly knew he was not a member of the “club.”

“May I help you?” she asked derisively, like she assumed he had made a wrong turn somewhere and had stopped to ask for directions.

Mickey stated his business, undeterred by the woman’s attitude. “Mr. Ian Gallagher is here to meet with Mr. McDougal. The reservation is for 6:00pm.”

“Ah, yes,” she stated in recognition. “Let me see….” She clicked her computer screen a couple times. “Mr. McDougal hasn’t arrived yet. I’m assuming you’re the bodyguard?”

“You would assume correctly,” Mickey nodded through gritted teeth. Stuck up little bitch.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to their table and show you where you’ll be sitting.”

She turned and made her way to the back of the restaurant with Mickey following behind her. Once he had done his security clearance, he went back out and collected Ian. When they walked back in together, it was like a whole other person greeted them, even though it was the same snooty ass hostess.

“Good evening, Mr. Gallagher! So nice to see you again. I’ve got your favorite table reserved for you. Mr. McDougal hasn’t arrived yet, but I can go ahead and seat you.” Mickey was all but nonexistent to her now.

“That’s fine, Julie, thanks,” Ian said distractedly as he put his phone in the front inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“Right this way, sir,” Julie stated enthusiastically. Once she had retrieved some menus and started walking, Ian turned to Mickey and just rolled his eyes. He apparently could read her fake shit a mile away too. They shared a little laugh together but quickly schooled their expressions once they got close to Ian’s table. “Here you are, Mr. Gallagher,” Julie presented the table with a flourish and placed the menus down. 

“I’ll be over here, if you need anything, Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey assured, making his way to his table down the aisle as Julie continued to ignore him.

“Wait, where is your table?” Ian asked.

“Back there,” Mickey pointed. 

Ian followed his hand to see where he was talking about. He shook his head. “No, that is unacceptable.” Ian looked around him, noticing the empty table beside him. “Is this table reserved?” he asked Julie.

Julie stammered for a second before answering. “No, sir. I don’t believe so. I’ll have to check to make sure though.”

“Well, check then. If it’s not, I want Mickey to sit here.” Julie looked at Mickey like she was seeing him again for the first time, her frown a clear indication of what she thought about him.

“Um, of course, sir, whatever you prefer,” Julie acquiesced reluctantly. She cut her eyes at Mickey again before departing and making her way back to the front of the restaurant.

“You didn’t have to do that, sir,” Mickey said as he sat down at his table next to Ian’s.

“It’s no big deal,” Ian shrugged. “They’re not going to sit you way in the back corner like some animal. You can’t guard anybody from there anyway. Besides, that stuck up bitch isn’t going to look down on anybody who works for me.”

Mickey felt pride bubble up in his chest. Nobody had ever stuck up for him like that, especially not anybody he worked for. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all.

The server came then to take their drink orders. He was standing in front of Ian, so Mickey couldn’t see him. He smiled to himself, partly in appreciation, partly in amusement. He had to admit he loved seeing that damn hostess being put in her place. When the server turned to him, he caught a glimpse of Ian staring at him with a matching smile. Realizing they had been caught by the other, they both turned away quickly, Ian picking up his menu, Mickey giving the server his drink order.

_____________________________

Mickey took another sip of wine from his glass, watching Ian as he tapped his fingers on the table in a steady rhythm. It was now 6:02pm, and McDougal still hadn’t shown yet, much to Ian’s obvious annoyance. The man was a stickler for punctuality, and apparently even a valuable potential client like McDougal wasn’t immune.

Mickey ran his finger around the top of his wine glass as it rested on the table. He smiled to himself when he thought about the fact that a former South Side thug, a fucking Milkovich, who used to shotgun beers with his brothers after a successful drug run, was sitting in a five-star restaurant, sipping wine from a glass. If fucking Terry Milkovich could see him now.

Mickey picked up his menu, scanning the selections while inconspicuously stealing secret glances at Ian over the top of it. It was his job to guard him, and that’s all he was doing. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. He watched as Ian put his menu down and took his phone out to check it for the millionth time. It was now about ten minutes after 6:00. When Ian saw the time, he sighed, visibly annoyed.

He threw his phone down on the table and no sooner had he done that, it began ringing.

“Mr. McDougal, how are you?” Ian plastered a smile on his face and it reflected in his voice.

Mickey was suddenly thankful for the huge, pretentious menu in his hand so he could eavesdrop on the conversation and gauge how it was going by Ian’s expressions.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that.” Oh shit. That didn’t sound like good news. Mickey watched as Ian threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I sure will. We will make it happen, Mr. McDougal. You just worry about that little girl of yours. I hope everything is okay.”

“Yes, sir. Talk to you soon.”

As soon as he hit end call on his phone, he exclaimed a loud “Fuck!” as he tossed his phone down and it landed with a hard thud. He ran his hands through his red hair, annoyance emanating from him. He sighed again and took a long drink from his wine glass before slamming it back down on the table.

Mickey placed his menu back down on the table gently, taking a drink from his own glass while keeping his eye on Ian at the same time. He had witnessed the guy’s short temper enough to know that it was just a matter of time before he blew.

But, surprisingly, he didn’t. Instead, he turned his head and his eyes searched for Mickey’s. When they met, Ian sighed again and shook his head, clearly frustrated.

Mickey offered him a small, sympathetic smile. He felt sorry for the bastard since he knew this deal was a big one and he’d been extremely anxious about it. Before Mickey could say anything, Ian jerked his head and motioned to the chair across from him, inviting Mickey to his table.

Mickey’s defenses immediately went up, thinking that was a really bad fucking idea. Ian was pissed and probably wanted to vent and raise hell at anybody who would listen. Plus, being that close to him was bound to do things to Mickey and being that attracted to your client was never a good thing. Mickey knew that all too well. Against Mickey’s better judgement though, he stood up, grabbing his wine glass and menu, and walked over to join Ian at his table.

Ian watched him as he sat down. When he was settled in his seat, Ian put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together while resting his forehead against them. Instead of exploding like Mickey expected, when he spoke, his voice sounded small and defeated. “Six months I worked on that deal, Mickey. Six months.”

“I know, man. I’m sorry. What the fuck happened?”

Ian brought his hands down, still clasped, to rest on the table and sighed. “His daughter was playing at the park and fell off the jungle gym and broke her arm. Said we would schedule another meeting soon.”

“That’s promising, right?”

Ian took a sip of his wine before answering with a scoff. “Hell, it took me months to get this meeting with him. There’s no telling how long it will be before I can get another one.”

“Maybe not. Just keep bugging the shit out of him until he gives you another meeting,” Mickey offered.

Ian scoffed again and shook his head. “I wish it were that easy. He’s a busy man.”

“Fucking prick.”

“Mickey! His daughter broke her arm. He had to go to her.” After a pause, Ian smirked at him and added coyly, “Fucking prick.”

“There ya go! That’s the fucking spirit,” Mickey cajoled, feeling a sense of victory when he got a smile from the man across from him. He smiled back at him and they sat there staring at each other until the server came to take their orders, breaking the spell they were under.

Once their orders were taken and they were alone again, a brief, awkward silence permeated the air, with only the murmurs of the people around them. Finally, Ian spoke. “So, how long are you going to be working for me?”

Mickey cocked an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “Until you don’t need me anymore, I guess,” Mickey shrugged noncommittally. “It’s an open-ended contract since there is an active investigation. “

Ian nodded. “I see. So you’re stuck with me, huh?” He smirked, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

“Pretty much,” Mickey quipped. “Unless they catch the guy that wants you dead.”

Ian sobered at Mickey’s words, a worried frown creasing his brow that disappeared just as quickly as it had come. Mickey instantly felt like a complete shit for being the one that put it there, albeit briefly.

Mickey held the stem of his wine glass between two fingers and twisted it back and forth, keeping his eyes downcast as he spoke, not able to look Ian in the eye.

“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Don’t be.” Ian shrugged his indifference as he folded his arms in front of him on the table. “It’s the truth,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

“Has that happened to you before? A death threat like that?”

“What do you think?” Ian retorted, clearly offended by the question. “A lot of people want what I have and will go to any lengths to get it. What can I say, Mickey? I’m a powerful man.”

Mickey raised his glass to his lips and muttered around it, “And a cocky…..”

“Asshole,” Ian finished for him, chuckling lightly when Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s ok, you can say it.”

“Actually,” Mickey smirked as he placed his glass back on the table, “I was going to say son of a bitch, but hey, your word works too.”

They shared another laugh and Mickey marveled at how easy it seemed. It was a revelation Mickey definitely wasn’t expecting. When Ian wasn’t being a pompous asshole, he was actually a pretty nice guy.

“No,” Mickey heard Ian say softly after their laughter had subsided, interrupting his thoughts.

“No, what?” Mickey questioned, confused.

After taking in Mickey’s furrowed brow and releasing a resigned sigh, Ian finally answered.

“No, It’s never happened to me before,” Ian revealed as he played with the edge of his white cloth napkin. He glanced up at Mickey with intense, troubled eyes, but before Mickey could decipher exactly what that look meant, the waiter arrived with their dinner orders.

________________________________

“No you did not!” Ian exclaimed as they sped down the highway, on the way to his apartment building.

They had eaten their dinner, settling into comfortable conversation and flirty banter. Mickey knew he was treading dangerous territory, but he just couldn’t help it. Ian was gorgeous, even more so when Mickey could look at him close up, his green eyes bright and his flaming red hair practically glowing in the lights of the restaurant above them.

And not only that, he was fun to talk to. They had a lot in common, shared a lot of the same interests. He actually laughed, a real genuine laugh and not some fake shit he fabricated for some client. His eyes were so intense, looking at Mickey like he was the only person in the room. Mickey was trying to decide if it made him uncomfortable or turned him on. He was inclined to go with the latter.

Mickey just kept reminding himself that Ian was his boss. He repeated that mantra in his head over and over, but every time Ian’s crooked smile pulled at the corner of his lips at something he said, those thoughts evaporated like a vapor.

After dinner, they had taken the company limo back to the office and picked Ian’s Porsche up, but not before Mickey had noticed the license plate. “Master JEDI? Seriously?” Mickey had asked as they got in the car.

“What?” Ian had asked incredulously as he put on his seatbelt and put the key in the ignition. “I am a huge Star Wars fan. And let’s face it, I am master of my own universe.”

“You really do live in your own fucking world, don’t you?” Mickey had teased as they drove out of the parking garage.

Ian had just smiled and shrugged as they had made their way into the night.

Now, twenty minutes later, they were almost to Ian’s apartment, and Mickey was doing everything he could to ignore the feeling of dread he had at the realization that their night was about to come to an end. What began as a disappointingly unsuccessful business meeting had turned into a fantastic night of a little bit of drinking, and a lot of talking and laughing.

But as much as he tried to ignore it, he didn’t want the night to end. He knew it was stupid, irrational, and foolish to have the hots for his boss, especially since he was almost certain it was one-sided. There was no way Ian felt anything for him, he was just being friendly, which granted, was unusual for him from what Mickey had seen. He just needed someone to talk to after his whole business deal went to shit, and Mickey was the only person available at the time.

Not only was he surely not interested in him, there was the small fact that Ian was his boss, and it was a completely horrible idea to get involved with anyone you worked with, especially a supervisor, for many reasons. Mickey knew firsthand what disastrous results doing that could have.

But one good thing about tonight was that they had finally established the rapport Mickey had wanted with him in the beginning. And that’s all it could ever be. For both of their sakes.

“I did,” Mickey responded with a nod of his head and a smile. 

“I can’t fucking believe it!” Ian exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement as he slapped the steering wheel. “You worked for THE Cassie Sinclair! I am such a huge fan of hers.”

Wow, Mickey had never seen this side of Ian before. He was brimming with enthusiasm and Mickey didn’t know how he felt about that. Hell, who was he kidding? He fucking loved it. Mickey had to work to contain the smile that wanted to form on his lips, instead forcing a grimace to appear. “Seriously? You like that teeny bopper shit?”

“Hell yeah, I do!” Ian defended. Suddenly the pop music that usually blared out of his speakers made so much more sense. “So? What was she like? Tell me.” Ian giggled through his excitement, causing Mickey to shoot him a cursory glance with raised eyebrows. He really did love that sound.

Goddammit, why did everything this man do have to be so sexy? Ian’s eyes remained steadfastly on the road as he waited with baited breath for Mickey to give him the dirt.

“She’s your typical bubblegum pop princess, I guess,” Mickey answered, disinterest lacing his voice. “Drinks, does drugs, lip syncs to fucking awful pop music. That’s pretty much it.”

“Wow, that’s so wild,” Ian said, clearly impressed. “I’m such a Clair Bear.”

Mickey twisted his face up in disgust at the mention of the name for Cassie’s hardcore fans. “Oh shit, really? Say it ain’t so, Gallagher.”

Ian chuckled, amused by Mickey’s obvious contempt. “Oh yes,” Ian stated proudly. “I love her music. She has such a soulful voice, she’s a great dancer too. And her style is iconic…..” As Ian rambled on about the apparent wonder that was Cassie Sinclair (Mickey didn’t see the fascination with her. But then, once you’ve held the woman’s hair back while she tried to throw up in a toilet but missed and it went all over your shoes, the magic is pretty much lost) , it didn’t go unnoticed by Mickey that Ian didn’t correct him this time about his name, if the current fluttering in his stomach were any indication.

I gotta tell you,” Mickey smirked, “I never would’ve pegged you for a Clair Bear.” Mickey said the name with a good amount of derision, but noticing a smile turn up on the corner of Ian’s lips nonetheless. Mickey couldn’t help but smile back.

“Wow.” Mickey shook his head. “If there was any doubt that you were fucking gay before, there definitely isn’t anymore.”

Ian knitted his eyebrows together, clearly confused, keeping his eye on the road while also trying to look at Mickey, his smile slowly fading. “Wait, what?”

Mickey shot him his own bewildered look, not really sure what he said wrong. “Mr. Gallagher, I…..” he stuttered, at a complete loss for words, immediately reverting back to addressing his boss with his professional moniker. The laid back ease with which they were conversing not more than thirty seconds ago fell away and a tense silence took its place. 

“How did you know I was gay?” Ian pressed, his mouth fixed in a hard line. Shit, granted Mickey still didn’t know him very well, but he really looked pissed. The fact that he was gay wasn’t a secret, was it? Fuck, he did a whole spread in Out fucking Magazine.

“Man, I’m…..I’m sorry, I thought you were out in the open with that shit. I didn’t know it was a big secret or whatever.” Mickey thumbed his nose and watched as Ian gripped the steering wheel tighter, so tight his knuckles were turning white.

Ian took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he came to a stop at a red light. He turned his head to look at Mickey briefly, the shock still registered on his face.

“No one at the company knows I’m gay. I keep my personal life completely separate from my professional one. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it by any means. It’s just nobody’s business at work who I fuck. So how the hell did you know?”

Mickey shrugged as he answered. “Hell, you did the big interview in Out Magazine, so I just assumed everybody knew. I’m sorry, man.” As soon as the words were out, Mickey tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, silently willing time to rewind about ten seconds before he put his large foot in his even larger mouth.

“How in the fuck did you know about _that_?” Ian asked, completely exasperated by this point. “I did that interview several years ago. Are you stalking me or some shit?”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” Mickey put his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not stalking shit, man.”

Mickey knew Ian must have been paranoid, considering there was someone out there who wanted to kill him, but he didn’t appreciate being called a stalker one damn bit. He had to set this shit straight before the guy fired him and called the damn police on him.

The light turned green and Ian turned back toward the road, stepping on the gas just a little too hard, causing Mickey to jerk backward against his seat.

Mickey scrubbed his hand down his face, thankful that at least Ian wasn’t going to be looking at him when he gave his explanation. He could feel his embarrassment burning him all the way up to his ears.

“Look, my sister was reading the magazine while she was at the doctor’s office. She knew your name because I had told her who I was going to be working for. She brought the magazine home and showed it to me.”

Ian stole glances at Mickey while still watching where he was going. His shoulders seemed to slump slightly in relief. Mickey could see his eyebrows furrow in confusion again, but with much less tension.

“Why in the hell was she reading Out Magazine?” Ian asked, slightly amused, his mood seeming to lift a bit.

How the hell was Mickey going to explain this one? He didn’t want shit to be weird between them, but he didn’t go around advertising his sexuality either, especially not at his job. But he didn’t want to lie to him either. For some reason, he felt the need to be completely honest. Although he wasn’t exactly sure why, and didn’t want to think about it too much.

“For me,” Mickey answered, almost in a whisper.

“What?” Ian asked, leaning over slightly, straining to hear.

Goddammit, he was really going to make him repeat it, wasn’t he? Motherfucker.

“I said,” Mickey raised his voice slightly,”for me. She was reading it for me, okay? For some crazy as fuck reason, she thinks it’s her sisterly duty to keep up with gay culture for her gay brother. It’s pointless as hell because I don’t give a damn about any of that shit. But it makes her happy, so I let her do it. For me, as long as I have a dick to bounce on, I’m good.”

Mickey noticed Ian’s leg come up and then slam down on the brake. The car came to a sudden stop, tires screeching loudly. They were only about a few inches from the car in front of them. It was a goddamn miracle they didn’t hit it. 

Ian gasped and his eyebrows shot up almost comically, his face flushing beet red. Mickey instinctively brought his hand up quickly so that it, instead of his face, slammed against the dashboard.

“What the fuck, man?!” Mickey yelled. “You trying to kill me now because I know you’re gay? If that’s the case, you’re going to have to off every asshole who works for you because they all know.” Mickey recalled his conversation with Tim about the guy from Accounting seeing him at the Fairy Tail. And it stood to reason that if one guy saw him and knew about him, they all know by now.

Ian visibly swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Mickey shrugged. “So they know. What’s the big fucking deal? Nobody gives a shit.”

“What’s the big deal??” Ian repeated. “I’m already getting threats on my goddamn life. Do I really need another reason for assholes to want to kill me? Plus, what if my clients and my investors find out? They don’t want to do business with a fucking queer. What if McDougal made that shit up about his daughter just to get out of meeting with the fag CEO?”

Ian’s breathing became more and more erratic as he rambled on, sweat forming on the temple Mickey could see. He was smack dab in the middle of a fucking panic attack. Mickey thought for a second on what to do next.

“Pull over,” Mickey demanded harshly, interrupting Ian’s tirade.

“No, Mickey, the parking garage is right there.” Mickey could see for himself that the parking garage was no more than 100 yards away, but he didn’t care.

“I don’t give a shit, pull over.”

“Mickey….”

“Pull the goddamn car over, Gallagher! I’m not telling you again!” Mickey watched as Ian snapped his mouth shut and did as he said and pulled over on the shoulder of the road.

Mickey jumped out of the passenger side door and made his way around the car until he reached the driver’s side and yanked the door open, oblivious to the traffic that continued to speed by them.

“Get out,” Mickey ordered. 

This time, Ian did what Mickey said without argument, without a word. Ian stood and stepped to the side so Mickey could shut the car door, leaning slightly on the car, a worried look on his face. “What the hell, Mickey?”

“Look,” Mickey said firmly as he placed his hands on Ian’s broad shoulders and searched his face until his green eyes met his blue. “You just need to calm the fuck down and breathe, okay? You are panicking for no damn reason.“ Ian rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Listen to me,” Mickey pleaded.

“Yeah, but what if…..”

“No…body…cares.” Mickey shook Ian’s shoulders with each syllable. ”Just breathe.”

Mickey took a deep breath in then, raising his eyebrows expectantly until finally, Ian joined him and matched his rhythm.

After a couple minutes of deep breathing, Ian nodded and said, “I think I’m good now.”

“You sure?” Mickey asked skeptically. “I don’t care how long it takes. Hell, we’ll stand out here all night if we need to.”

Ian smiled and relief flooded through Mickey’s body. He just couldn’t help it. He immediately felt better when the asshole in front of him was smiling.

“I promise, I’m okay,” Ian reassured as his hands came up to rest on Mickey’s forearms. Mickey took that as a sign to move his hands that were still resting on Ian’s shoulders, so he did. But he could’ve sworn he saw a brief flash of disappointment cross Ian’s face. “Besides, these people probably would prefer if we got the hell off the side of the road.”

Mickey scoffed and tossed his thumb over his shoulder. “Fuck these assholes. Like they got anywhere important to be.”

“Speaking of important places to be,” Ian remarked as he turned to open his car door, “I know you are ready to get home.”

They both jumped in the car then and refastened their seatbelts as Ian turned on the engine.

“Eh, not really,” Mickey said as he checked his watch. “It’s late. My sister will probably be in bed and my brother had to work the late shift, so….I’ll probably just go home and crash.”

“Where is home incidentally?” Ian asked as he carefully pulled back into traffic. Even the way he drove was sexy.

“I live on the South Side, Trumball Avenue.”

“Get the fuck out.” Ian turned into the parking garage. “I grew up on Wallace.”

“Get the fuck out.” Mickey mirrored Ian’s expression, unable to think of anything else to say. He was shocked to say the least. The more he found out about Ian, the more they seemed to have in common. “Well, at least you got out,” Mickey remarked as he took in his surroundings. Ian had definitely moved up in the world.

“Yeah,” Ian responded quietly, and it seemed like he went somewhere else for a minute, suddenly becoming pensive.

Mickey got the feeling that this was a sore subject for Ian and that he had no desire to talk about it. Coming from the fucked up family he came from, he could most definitely relate to that.

Mickey figured it was probably best to change the subject. “How long have you lived here?”

Ian made his way through the garage with ease, obviously having done this a million times, until they finally made it to his reserved space.

. “A couple years.” He still seemed distracted, the mention of his upbringing clearly shaking him up a bit, even though he was trying hard not to show it.

They got out of the car and walked inside the building, Ian waving politely to the doorman and the front desk clerk. “It’s a nice place,” Mickey admired, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he looked around like he was seeing the place for the first time. He sort of was. Even though he had been here before, he had never actually seen the place. It was just another location, another home to sweep before. Now, for reasons Mickey didn’t want to consider, it was more than that.

“It’s alright,” Ian said, unimpressed, as he hit the elevator button for the top floor.

Mickey shuffled from foot to foot as they waited for the elevator to make its way to their floor, unsure of what to say. “You’re really lucky.”

Yeah, sure,” Ian muttered as he punched the up button again even though it was already lit up.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of tense silence, the doors opened and they stepped in. Even with the sudden, obvious tension between them, they were the only ones in the elevator, Mickey couldn’t deny the electric charge that crackled between them.

“Look,” Ian said finally, thankfully interrupting Mickey’s less than appropriate thoughts, “I’m sorry about being weird back there. I just don’t like to talk about my childhood.”

“Ay, man, I wasn’t asking….”

“No, I know you weren’t,” Ian reassured. “I guess I was just shocked that you were from the South Side too. I don’t meet many people from there anymore doing what I do, you know? And it just popped out of my mouth that I was from there, and it…..brought up…..” Ian waved his hand through the air as he struggled to find his words.

“Hey,” Mickey put his hand on Ian’s arm reassuringly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I won’t bring it up again.”

Ian nodded as he took a deep breath and released it, but didn’t say anything. Mickey was sure now more than ever that there was much more to the man beside him than he thought. Mickey was dying to know, but he said he wouldn’t bring it up again, and he wouldn’t. Mickey didn’t break a promise. If and when Ian was ready to tell him, that’s when he would find out.

The elevator finally made it to Ian’s floor and they stepped out. When Ian unlocked the door, he stood in the doorway as Mickey turned to slip past him, Mickey’s chest brushing Ian’s arm. They both looked at each other intensely as that charge surged again. “Stay here,” Mickey said, his voice deep and breathy as he quickly scanned his eyes up and down Ian’s body. Being that close to the redhead was definitely having an effect on him and he was equal parts thankful and regretful when he turned around and put some distance between them as he made his way into the apartment.

Just like the parking garage and the lobby of the building, it was like he was seeing Ian’s apartment for the first time. As he scanned the kitchen and did his walk through, he noticed how neat and clean the room was with its state of the art furnishings and top of the line appliances. The living room was spotless as well, with a big, open, curtainless window on the opposite side with a perfect view of the Chicago skyline. There were men’s fitness magazines on the coffee table. Of course there were. He just buys them for the articles, right?

He checked the balcony, then turned down the hallway, making his way to Ian’s gym. There was a towel hanging on the handle bar of his treadmill, probably with his dried sweat on it. Why was even that turning him on? There were free weights in the corner on a stand, a stationary bike, and a weight bench in the middle of the room. Judging by Ian’s body, he obviously spent a lot of time in this room.

Once the room was determined to be clear, he came back out to the hallway and walked to the other end, the master bedroom. Before entering, Mickey took a deep breath in. He walked in and was struck by how everything was so……white. White furniture, white walls, even white carpet. And white linens on the bed. Mickey stepped closer to the bed and examined it. Of course it was immaculate. Ian obviously had a maid because there was no way he had the time to keep his place this clean.

Mickey’s eyes went to the center of the bed and he inadvertently wondered how many men he had shared that bed with. A sudden, inappropriate jealousy overtook him, causing him to shake his head to try to get those foolish feelings to go away.

He walked further in until he made it to the master bathroom. He checked the shower with its perfectly placed toiletries and clean, white towel hanging on the shower door. A clean, white robe with a G emblazoned on the front in red was hanging on a hook on the opposite wall.

He walked to the sink and took in all the bottles perfectly lined up by height. Mickey was surprised the damn things weren’t alphabetized too. Mickey couldn’t help himself and picked up one of the bottles to smell it. Oh, goddamn, it was Ian’s cologne. It smelled just like him.

Mickey closed his eyes and relished in the sexy, musky smell.

“Everything okay?” Mickey heard Ian ask.

“Uh, yeah, just finished up my sweep,” Mickey called over his shoulder. He went to put back Ian’s cologne bottle, but was so nervous he knocked over every damn one, some of them falling down into the sink. “Fuck,” Mickey whispered harshly as he attempted to quickly clean up his mess. He needed to get his fucking shit together. What the hell was wrong with him, obsessing over his boss like this?

Once the bottles were finally back in order, hopefully like Ian had them, Mickey shuffled quickly back to toward the main part of the house. Before he turned the corner, he stopped for a minute, fixed his jacket, fixed his hair, and took a deep breath. He walked into the front room then and Ian was still standing in his same spot like Mickey had ordered him to.

His eyes watched Mickey as he got closer, slowly raking down his body and back up again. Holy shit. The hairs on the back of Mickey’s neck stood up and the blood drained from his face and went straight to his dick.

His mouth was suddenly very dry and he struggled to find his voice. He came to a stop right in front of Ian, probably invading his personal space, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, his eyes fixed on Mickey’s lips as Mickey’s eyes fixed on his. They both looked up at each other at the same time, the fire in their eyes threatening to burn each other up.

A few, hot, steamy moments, later, Ian stepped back, clearing his throat. “Thanks for tonight, Mickey.”

Mickey thumbed his lip nervously. “It was no problem, man. We all get freaked the fuck out about shit at one time or another.”

Ian shook his head and stepped back where he was, so close that Mickey could see every perfect freckle on his face. “No, not for that. I mean,” Ian stuttered anxiously, “yes for that, of course. But I meant…..”

Mickey waited for him to finish what he was saying, but he just rubbed his forehead and looked nervous as hell. “Meant what?”

“For everything,” Ian answered in a breathy whisper. Mickey practically melted into a puddle right there on the floor. “This has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a while, even if it did start out pretty shitty. So thank you for that.”

Ian breathed a sigh of relief, and now it was Mickey’s turn to be nervous. How did he respond to that. Frankly, it had been one of the best nights he had spent with a man in a long time too. But the man in this scenario was his boss. He wasn’t allowed to have a good time with his damn boss, even though that’s exactly what he did tonight.

“You too, man.” Fuck, that was lame, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Luckily, Ian saved him from the awkwardness. “I gotta say,” he smiled and lit up the whole room, “you surprised the shit out of me tonight.”

“Oh, about me being from the South Side? Yeah, it is a small fucking world, huh?”

“Yeah, it is,” Ian nodded. But that wasn’t all I was referring to.”

Realization suddenly dawned on Mickey. “You mean what I said right before you almost got us killed?”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed with a chuckle. “I gotta admit, I was not expecting that.”

Mickey smirked at him playfully. “Yeah I’m a cock slut, what can I say?”

Ian’s eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Damn, I feel like I should welcome you to the club or something.”

“Why?” Mickey questioned. “Hell, I’m the CEO of that damn club.”

Ian laughed then, a deep, hearty laugh that sent a thrill all the way through to Mickey’s bones. “Well, then we’re both CEOs then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed with a nod. “I just get paid in dick, not dollars.”

Ian laughed again. “Shut the fuck up, Mickey.”

Mickey shrugged. “Hey, just keeping it real, Gallagher.”

Ian just shook his head, still smiling. “Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you home? I don’t mind.”

Mickey wanted more than anything to take Ian up on his offer, but he also knew that any more time in close proximity with this man was not going to be good for either of them. “Naw, man, it’s okay. I’m just going to take the L. It’s not but about a thirty minute train ride.”

Ian held the door open, leaning on the doorknob. They both just stood there in the doorway, staring intently at each other. Mickey was reluctant to leave, and Ian didn’t seem in too big of a hurry for him to go.

Mickey moved closer to the door and turned to slip back out, but this time Ian turned too so that they were chest to chest, their breaths coming in shallow bursts as their eyes met again.

“Good night, Mickey,” Ian breathed lowly.

Mickey’s eyes studied Ian’s face for one last second, trying to memorize every crease, every line. “Good night, Ian.”

They stayed like that for a few moments longer, neither of them wanting to break the spell. Finally, Mickey broke eye contact with him and turned to head toward the bank of elevators. He pushed the down button, glancing over his shoulder since Ian’s apartment door was visible from where he was standing. 

What he saw surprised the fuck out of him. Ian was still standing there, watching him. Mickey turned completely around to face him. This time, all too quickly, the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Mickey backed up into it, not taking his eyes off of Ian, as Ian continued to stare back. He put his hand out to block the door from closing, wanting selfishly to savor the last few moments he had with Ian Gallagher.

Suddenly, someone walked up and thanked him for holding the elevator for him, oblivious to the eye fucking session that was occurring right in front of him. Reluctantly, Mickey moved his hand from the door and stepped back, offering Ian one last smile and he offered his own in return, before the doors finally closed and delivered him back down to the first floor, and back down to Earth.


	7. Chapter Seven

Ian fell back against the door to his apartment, barely registering the click as it closed from the weight of his body, still reeling from the moment he had just shared with Mickey. To say it was intense would be the understatement of the fucking century. Being that close to him, feeling his breath on his skin, smelling his strong, unique scent, was doing things to him that a whole night of fucking some random twink from the club could never do. Just thinking of the man who had just left had his heart racing and a sheen of sweat forming on his skin.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe it. Mickey Milkovich was gay. And to hear him talk about bouncing on a dick, Jesus Christ. Ian had been so shocked he had almost caused a major collision. And hearing that also told him that not only was he gay, he was a bottom. He was every gold star top’s wet dream with his rugged sexiness, take charge attitude and most importantly, his love for cock. What more could a guy ask for? Mickey was definitely full of fucking surprises tonight, but what surprised Ian the most was how much he loved being with him, even when he was being a bossy little shit, which Ian usually wouldn’t tolerate in the least.

When Mickey stopped them in the middle of damn traffic to try to talk him down from his panicking, Ian was amazed at how Mickey handled the situation. And the fact that it didn’t bother him that someone else took control, which he normally didn’t ever like to relinquish. No one had taken the time to care about how he was feeling like that in such a long time. Hell, he couldn’t even remember a time, it had been so long. It was…..nice.

Ian honestly had no idea that everyone knew he was gay at work, so Mickey’s admission definitely took him by surprise. Like he had told Mickey, his first thought was of his clients and what they would think of him if they found out. But maybe Mickey had a point. Maybe they just didn’t give a shit. At least he hoped Mickey was right on that one. He had worked too fucking hard to build that company into what it was to let some homophobic assholes take that all away.

Ian had been so disheartened when McDougal canceled on him, considering how long and hard he had worked on that deal. But as soon as Mickey sat down at his table, a night that had started out to be so shitty, suddenly became a lot less so. They had talked about a lot of random shit, laughed a lot, and just genuinely had a good time. In fact, Ian couldn’t remember a time when he had had so much fun.

Ian didn’t do dates and didn’t really have any idea of what you were supposed to do on one since he had always been a hit it and quit it kind of guy, but if they were any better than that, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand it.

Wait, what the fuck was he doing? Thinking about dates? Worse yet, dates with his damn bodyguard? Ian pushed himself off the door with a loud groan while he tried to push those thoughts from his mind. He paced back and forth in his foyer, giving himself a pep talk. _Mickey is practically your employee, Ian. He is completely off limits. You are being an irrational and irresponsible jackass. Acting on these feelings would only spell disaster. Don’t even fucking think about it._

But no amount of talking to himself could make him forget about how sexy he was when he wasn’t even trying to be, or how cute he was when he was giving Ian shit, especially when that smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Mickey was one of the most amazing people Ian had met in a long time, and all he wanted to do was get to know him more.

He knew deep down how wrong that was, and how much it went against his not mixing business with pleasure rule. But he also knew that Mickey was the first person in a long time that Ian just did not want to be an asshole to, and he knew how big of a deal that was. He had fought it with everything he had in him, tried to force himself to maintain his power by being an even bigger dick. But now, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he had even told himself that was a good idea.

Mickey didn’t deserve that. Ian could tell already what a good person he was. He obviously cared about his family. Ian could see the love he had for them all over his face when he talked about them at dinner tonight. All Ian could think was how lucky they were to have Mickey to love them and take care of them like he did. Thinking about that had made Ian start thinking about his own family and how he wished he could be that for them one day. He hadn’t thought about them in so long, that an overwhelming sadness had overtaken him. Mickey had obviously picked up on it because he immediately told some corny ass joke that got Ian laughing again, and the sadness was all but forgotten.

Glancing at his watch, Ian noticed the time and how late it was, and decided to take a long shower (a cold one probably wouldn’t be a bad idea) and go to bed. It was just a coincidence that, as he walked to his bedroom to strip naked, he glanced once again at his watch right before he laid it on his dresser to calculate the time in hours, minutes, and seconds, until he would see Mickey again. 

__________________________________

The next morning, Ian stood at his dresser mirror, adjusting his tie, when he heard a low humming echo throughout the room. He looked around at the empty bedroom, everything still in the same place he’d left it, no one around. It was then that he realized that it was coming from him. He was actually fucking humming. Before he could curse himself for being a pussy, a sharp knock on the door had him jumping out of his skin with anticipation.

But before he could run to the door like a little bitch like he wanted to, he stopped short in the hallway, took a deep breath, and smoothed his hands down his suit jacket, forcing himself to calm the fuck down and ignore his racing heart.

He glided to the door, smoothing his hand through his hair one last time before opening it with a big smile on his face.

“Buenos dias, Senor Gallagher,” Ian’s housekeeper bellowed.

Ian’s face fell in disappointment. “What the fuck, Rosario? Why didn’t you use your key?”

He turned and walked back into the apartment, barely registering her explanation, something about her son and a faulty washing machine. He wasn’t really listening, to be honest. He snatched his phone from his pocket as Rosario busied herself in the kitchen, telling himself he was checking work emails, but knowing full well he was checking the time. 7:03AM. A pang of worry zipped through him, and as he was silently chastising himself, another hard knock on the door had him pocketing his phone and rushing to answer it.

This time, the smile that spread over his face remained. Mickey Milkovich stood before him, dressed in gray slacks, black leather shoes, a royal blue dress shirt, and black leather jacket. He was so damn hot, Ian felt warmth spread all through his body.

“Good morning, Mickey.”

Mickey’s head was tilted down slightly, so when his eyes came up, they traveled the entire length of Ian’s body before settling on his face, making Ian’s stomach flutter. “Good morning, Ian.”

His voice was raspy with sleep, like Ian was the first one he had talked to that morning, and for some irrational reason, that made Ian giddily happy.

“Come on in,” Ian invited with a flourish of his hand, stepping aside to allow Mickey to enter. As Mickey crossed the threshold, Ian’s senses were flooded with the smell of him as his cologne wafted into his nose as he passed by and he felt almost drunk on it. His eyes chanced a look at the man’s back, wandering down until they found his ass, silently thanking the leather jacket gods for not covering up his favorite feature. Mickey’s ass had to be the best one Ian had ever seen, especially in those snug, gray slacks. Fucking hell.

Mickey turned back toward him and Ian quickly averted his eyes, but the look on Mickey’s face told him that Ian had just been caught staring. Heavy footsteps headed toward them from the back of the apartment, and Ian watched the scene before him unfold with wide eyes as Mickey went into automatic defense mode, his protective instincts kicking in. He turned sharply at the noise, backing up closer to Ian. His left arm came up to Ian’s chest and pushed him back while his right hand reached across under his leather jacket and pulled out what looked like a 9mm hand gun.

He brought the gun up and braced it in both hands, aiming it toward the unfamiliar noise, poised to obliterate whatever threat loomed in the distance.

Rosario unwittingly stomped into the room with a full laundry basket at her side, softly singing in Spanish. When she finally looked up and saw Mickey, still in his protective stance, gun pointed right at her, she let out a blood-curdling scream and the laundry basket went flying through the air, all of the clothes that were in it falling haphazardly to the living room floor.

“Mickey, don’t! She’s my housekeeper!” Ian rushed around his bodyguard and pushed Mickey’s arms down with his own. As if he was coming out of a trance or something, Mickey straightened up, his heaving chest calming and his short breaths evening out. Ian’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he knew his recovery time was going to be quite a bit longer.

Mickey quickly replaced his gun back to its holster that Ian hadn’t even realized he had. It made sense though, a bodyguard would need to carry a weapon for protection. Hell, Ian grew up around guns and various weapons, growing up on the South Side, but it had been a long time since he’d even seen one and it caught him a little off guard.

It’s okay,” Ian whispered softy as he put his hand gingerly on Mickey’s arm, “this is my housekeeper, Rosario.”

Rosario was now on her knees, frantically picking up the items of clothes strewn about, nervously babbling, refusing to look up from what she was doing. 

Ian nodded in her direction, prompting Mickey to follow him. They walked over to her and began helping place the clothes back in the basket.

“Me asustaste!” Rosario said, earning a confused look from Mickey.

Mickey’s brows furrowed in annoyance as he looked pointedly at Ian. “What the fuck did she just call me?”

Ian just rolled his eyes as Rosario threw the last of the clothes in the basket and used it as leverage to push herself up.

“Rosario, this is my….” Ian began, trying to introduce Mickey to her, but Mickey had scooted over to her from his crouched position on the floor and placed his hands on either side of her waist to help her up.

“Apartate de mi!” She shrieked, hoisting herself up and scurrying from the room.

“Real friendly, ain’t she?” Mickey remarked as they both stood back up.

“Well, you did just have a gun pointed in her face. She probably wasn’t in the mood for small talk.”

They both laughed as they turned toward the foyer to get ready to leave, careful to avoid Rosario for the time being. She must have disappeared to Ian’s laundry room because they didn’t see or hear her anywhere.

“What the hell was she saying, anyway? Did she call me a motherfucker or something?” Mickey asked as he shrugged and swiped his nose with his hand.

Ian grabbed his messenger bag from the stool at the kitchen bar and hoisted it onto his shoulder. “She said, ‘you scared me’ and ‘get away from me, you thug.’”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You speak Spanish?” he asked, totally forgetting the fact that Ian’s housekeeper had basically insulted him.

Ian walked toward Mickey, checking his phone and mentally reminding himself to let the door man know to lock his apartment once Rosario leaves. “I am CEO of a multinational corporation, Mickey. If I’m going to do business with other countries, I have to learn their languages.”

Mickey’s eyebrows stayed high on his head as he quipped, “that’s pretty badass, Gallagher.” His accompanying smirk made Ian go weak in the knees.

They left the apartment and headed to the bank of elevators down the hall. “No, what you pulled back there was badass.” Their shoulders accidentally bumped as they walked, and Ian sent a sidelong glance in Mickey’s direction, where he saw his eyebrow lift slightly and his thumb come up and brush his nose. Ian hadn’t learned all of his nervous habits yet, but if those weren’t indications that Mickey felt the same surge of electricity Ian did at that slight touch, he didn’t know what was. As they arrived at the elevator, Ian punched the down button and added with a smirk, “even though you did try to give my housekeeper a heart attack.”

“Ay, man. I’m sorry about that,” Mickey apologized as he placed his hands in his jacket pockets.

Ian shook his head as the elevator doors opened to allow them entry. “It’s fine. I’m just fucking with you. You were just doing your job, right?”

Mickey nodded in agreement but didn’t respond as Ian pushed the button for the first floor.

That was the first time Ian had seen Mickey in action, seen him in bodyguard mode, ready to protect him from a supposed threat. It was badass for sure, but what he didn’t mention to Mickey was how fucking hot he thought it was. He would just keep that little bit of information to himself.

________________________________

Mickey was in a fuck ton of trouble. In every other way, this was a typical day in the life of Ian Gallagher. Mickey sat on his usual perch in Ian’s office like he’s done every day since he started working for him. Ian was either on the phone or sending out emails, or preparing for a meeting, yelling at Tim every so often for something he didn’t do right.

Mickey had studied him so much that he had picked up on some of his habits: the quirk of his eyebrow when he was getting annoyed, the steady tap of his pen on his desk when he was getting impatient, how his full lips would crinkle into a pout when he was listening intently to someone on the phone.

But, in between doing all of the basic things a CEO would do and Ian being the same asshole he had been since he met him, they would talk, and give each other shit, and flirt. Mickey felt guilty for the flirting they were doing but he just couldn’t help himself. Ian was so fucking hot sitting there, barking out orders, talking business with countless people, switching from conversation to conversation seamlessly. It was all Greek to Mickey, but he sure made it sound good.

But when that phone was hung back on its cradle and the emails were done being typed out and sent, Ian was like a totally different person. He was funny, kind, and just a genuinely nice person. And Mickey had a feeling that he was the only person who was privy to this Ian, and that thought made his stomach churn with excitement. It made Mickey feel…..special. And that certainly wasn’t a feeling he was used to having.

This morning on his way to Ian’s apartment, he was actually looking forward to seeing Ian, and that scared the shit out of him. Even more than his wrinkled, old housekeeper did. When she came up on them unexpectedly, Mickey admittedly did overreact a bit. Ian had rationalized the situation, saying that Mickey was just doing his job. Mickey had silently agreed with him, but inside he knew that his main motivation had fuck all to do with his job as his bodyguard. The thought of something bad happening to Ian was scary as hell. For all the wrong reasons.

Mickey had to keep reminding himself that Ian Gallagher was his client, and that’s all he could ever be. No matter how attracted to him he was, no matter how much he enjoyed the time they spent together. Those lines could not be blurred though, Mickey knew all too well that mixing business with pleasure never ended well.

“Tim! Get your ass in here!” Ian yelled as he slammed down the phone, breaking Mickey from his thoughts.

A few seconds later Tim came rushing in, flushed and visibly scared. “Yes, Mr. Gallagher?”

“I thought I told you to set up that meeting with the advisory board next week?”

“I did, sir.”

“Then how come I just got off the phone with Irving and he said he knew nothing about it?” Ian’s nostrils also flared when he was pissed, Mickey noticed. It was so damn adorable. _Fuck._

“I’ll double check and make sure that my calendar invite was sent. I’m sorry, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Don’t apologize, just fix it,” Ian advised with a stern look.

And without another word, Tim scurried out of the office.

“You know he’s scared shitless of you, right?” Mickey asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, I know,” Ian said as he leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head and an evil smile breaking out on his face. That motherfucker. Trouble was, Mickey was scared shitless of him too, for totally different reasons.

______________________________

At 5:45pm, they were finally leaving the office and heading to Ian’s apartment.

“So, how’s your sister doing?” Ian asked as they sped down the highway.

That question caught Mickey off guard. He had never asked about his sister before and given the fact that he had barely mentioned Mandy’s illness when he was asking off for her appointment when all hell broke loose, he was surprised that he even remembered. Even during dinner at the restaurant, Mickey had talked about his family, but even then he didn’t mention Mandy’s cancer.

“She’s doing as good as can be expected, I guess. The chemo has been pretty rough on her.”

Ian turned his head just long enough for Mickey to see the sympathy there in his eyes before he had to turn back to the road.

Ian’s hand came over and lightly patted Mickey’s knee. “I’m sorry, Mickey.”

Mickey had to swallow the lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat as he croaked out a small, “Thanks.”

Milkoviches didn’t generally do well with anybody feeling sorry for them, and he knew Mandy would hate it. But it made Mickey all warm inside knowing that Ian felt bad for her. Cancer was just as much mental as it was physical, and the more people you had supporting you, the better. Fuck knows Mandy needed all the help she could get right now.

Trying to lighten the sudden heavy mood, Mickey asked, “So, what do you do for fun?”

“Really?” Ian smirked. “Are we on a first date I didn’t know about?”

“Fuck you, man. I was just making conversation,” Mickey explained, thankful that Ian couldn’t see the blush creep up on his cheeks in the dark car.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Ian began thoughtfully, “I like to work out, go to clubs and find something to fuck. That’s pretty much all I have time for.”

Mickey felt an irrational jealousy wash over him at the thought of Ian hooking up with other guys. It wa_s_ so fucking stupid, but it was there nonetheless. He suddenly regretted even asking the question.

“What about you?” Ian asked, glancing quickly at Mickey to gauge his reaction.

“Pretty much the same thing,” Mickey answered coolly, avoiding looking in Ian’s direction. He wasn’t about to admit that it had been a while since he’d found something to fuck and he was horny as a motherfucker.

Since Mickey was looking out his passenger window, he missed the furrowed brows Ian shot his way at that answer.

They finally arrived at Ian’s parking garage and made their way inside the building to his apartment. He was being eerily quiet, and Mickey wasn’t sure why. So he just let him stew in his thoughts while he unlocked the door and let Mickey in to do his security check. 

Once he was done (luckily he didn’t make a fool of himself this time) he turned the corner out of the hallway into the main area of the apartment. He casually slowed his footsteps, hoping Ian didn’t notice, trying to prolong his time with him. It seemed now that every time he had to leave him, this feeling of dread overtook him, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

Ian was standing in the foyer, his head down, one hand in his pocket, and the other at his mouth while he chewed on his thumbnail. One foot was moving back and forth on the floor. He radiated nervous energy that had Mickey scratching his damn head. He seemed fine in the car, so he wasn’t sure what was going on now.

“Ay, man, you okay?” Mickey asked as he walked up to him.

“Huh?” Ian asked distractedly. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired I guess.”

“That’s understandable. You had a long day of being a badass. That would make anybody fucking tired.”

Ian nodded absently, and that was his only reaction to Mickey’s compliment, so he knew there was something definitely wrong.

“Is there anything you want to talk about? You seem down, man,” Mickey tried again.

Ian shook his head. “No, there isn’t anything I want to talk about. There is something I want to do though.”

Mickey’s eyes went wide in confusion. “What’s that?”

Before he knew what was happening, Ian rushed toward him and his hand wrapped around Mickey’s neck and pulled him in, bringing his lips down hard on Mickey’s. His lips were warmer and softer than Mickey had even imagined, and he had imagined them a lot. The tip of Ian’s tongue invited its way into his mouth and as Mickey allowed it, Ian moaned his appreciation. Mickey brought his hands up to snake around Ian’s neck, searching further up until his fingers are running through that gorgeous red hair, pulling slightly to guide the kiss. Another moan escapes Ian’s throat, sending vibrations through Mickey’s whole body. Ian’s hands come around and grab at Mickey’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Mickey ran his hands down Ian’s chest, feeling every ripple of sinewy muscle, silently cursing his shirt for being in the way. His hands traveled over to his biceps and he hummed his own appreciation into Ian’s mouth as they continued their hot, searing kiss, like they couldn’t get enough of each other.

Ian sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and Mickey was sure he was going to combust right there. His legs were getting weaker with every sweep of Ian’s tongue in his mouth, every press of Ian’s lips to his.

As if reading Mickey’s thoughts, Ian guided them over to his pristine white couch, pushing Mickey’s leather jacket down his arms and off of him in one swift movement. He threw it somewhere behind him, briefly breaking their contact, but quickly coming back for more. He pushed Mickey down onto the couch and brought his body down to cover his. As hot as that was and as much as Mickey wanted that body to do unspeakable things to him, he knew he had to put an end to this before it went too far

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mickey said, pushing Ian softly off of him.

“What’s the matter?” Ian asked breathlessly.

Mickey was still trying to get his bearings and think of logical reasons why this was a bad idea. “We just…..we can’t, man. I’m sorry. I want to, fuck do I want to…..”

“No, I get it, you’re right,” Ian interrupted. “We should stop.” Ian pushed himself up off of Mickey and onto his feet.

“I just don’t think it would be….”

“Mickey,” Ian said forcefully, “It’s okay. I understand. It would be inappropriate for anything to happen between us.”

Mickey stood up and looked Ian in his eyes, searching for what he was afraid Ian wasn’t saying. All he saw was sadness, and it about tore Mickey’s heart out.

“I’m sorry, Ian.”

Ian didn’t answer, only nodded in agreement. Mickey walked over to where his leather jacket was laying on the floor, picked it up, and put it back on. He walked slowly to the front door, turning around one last time.

“Good night, Ian.”

Ian still stood facing the couch, never turning around to look at him. “Good night, Mickey,” Ian muttered, his voice breaking on his name.

Mickey opened the door to the apartment, chancing one more glance at Ian, still unmoved, then closed the door quietly behind him.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while to get done! It's a little bit longer than the other chapters. Alot of shit happens lol. Enjoy!

Mickey stared out the window of the El train, watching as the bright lights of the city sped by in a blur of colors. The engine hummed loudly, but all Mickey could focus on was the humming he still felt on his lips from Ian’s kiss. It had been so long since he’d been kissed, he had forgotten how good it felt. But, then again, he didn’t remember kissing ever feeling that good. Probably because he rarely allowed it.

Mickey didn’t normally kiss guys since it was too personal, too emotional. The guys he usually hooked up with didn’t seem to mind though. They were only concerned with one hole and it wasn’t on his face. Which had always suited Mickey just fine.

But the second Ian kissed him, Mickey wanted more. He wasn’t sure of what, just more. He couldn’t get enough. Mickey had told himself over and over how wrong it was to have feelings for his client, but in that moment, he just didn’t care anymore. He was tired of fighting what he and Ian clearly both wanted.

Mickey knew how he felt, but he wasn’t exactly sure about Ian’s feelings until tonight. Sure, they had done some innocent flirting and had a great time together, but other than that Ian had given no indication that he wanted anything more, until tonight. And although the very thought of that both thrilled and excited Mickey, it made him sick to his stomach to think that stopping what had happened between them had disappointed Ian. 

Mickey was so conflicted. He was so pissed at himself, but he couldn’t decide what he was more pissed about-the fact that he let the kiss happen with Ian or the fact that he stopped it from going any further. He couldn’t remember ever feeling better and worse at the same time. It was a fucked up feeling.

Ian had kissed him good, and Mickey had kissed him right back. In that moment, he didn’t think about the consequences. He just went with what felt right, and kissing Ian felt perfectly right. There was nothing else he would rather have been doing in that moment.

But when Ian laid on top of him and his hard, muscular body fit perfectly on top of his, as fucking good as it felt, it was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water on them. Mickey knew if he didn’t stop it right then, they would do something they would both regret. His big head had finally caught up with his little head.

At the time, it seemed like the logical, sensible thing to do, stopping what would have inevitably happened. But when had Mickey Milkovich ever been accused of being logical and sensible? He was a Milkovich, where you act first and think later. Hell, growing up with his piece of shit father, you just acted. There was no logical thinking or conscience involved. If you showed either, you were likely to get a smack across the face.

Feelings were another thing that did not happen in the Milkovich household. Terry would pound the shit out of any of his kids if they showed any kind of emotion. Maybe that’s why Mickey had always stuck to random hook ups. Besides being more convenient with his line of work, it was much easier than letting feelings get involved. He didn’t know how to do relationships, so he didn’t even try. He had let that happen one time, just once, and it had ended in disaster, so he hadn’t even considered crossing that line again. Until now.

A few minutes later and Mickey was opening his front door, glad to be home.

“Mickey, is that you?” Mickey heard his sister call weakly.

He walked further into the house to find his sister lying on their living room couch, her head propped up on several pillows and her thick blanket huddled around her body and under her armpits.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?”

Mandy shrugged and Mickey could see her collar bones protruding out from underneath her pajama top. “Iggy’s at work, and I didn’t want to be in my room in case there was trouble, so I decided to come out here. Maybe watch some horrible TV.”

Mickey glanced over and saw his 9mm lying on the coffee table. Even though the neighborhood had improved slightly over the years, old habits die hard. Mickey wasn’t worried. Hell, his sister was as tough as any of them and handled a gun almost better than Mickey did, and he was professionally trained.

He still had to give her a hard time though. He wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. “I see you found my gun. What did I tell you would happen if you fucked with it?” He crossed his arms over his chest, trying for fake intimidation.

Mandy just scoffed. “Oh unclench, you aren’t even using it.” 

He laughed despite his shitty mood. Mandy was always able to cheer him up.

“You feeling okay?” Mickey asked as he hung his coat up and made his way to the kitchen refrigerator for a beer. He almost hesitated, wanting to keep the taste of Ian on his lips, but quickly realized how absurd that sounded and popped the top and took a swig.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Got sick some earlier, but I’m feeling better now.”

“Did you take your anti-nausea meds?” Mickey asked as he placed his beer on the coffee table. He carefully lifted Mandy’s feet under the blanket and sat down on the couch, putting her feet in his lap.

“Yes, _dad_. I did,” she said sarcastically, holding up the prescription bottle and shaking it for him to see.

“Bitch, don’t insult me like that,” Mickey warned without heat as he started massaging Mandy’s feet and she let out a low moan of pleasure. “And quit making those noises. You sound like you are having a damn orgasm." 

Mandy scoffed. "Like you know what a woman sounds like." 

Mickey's face contorted in disgust. "Keep saying that shit and I'm going to need one of your pills." 

“Shut the fuck up and keep rubbing, asshole,” Mandy said as she put her head back and closed her eyes. “So, how was your day with the most gorgeous man in Chicago?”

Mickey was kind of glad her eyes were closed, so she didn’t see the heat rise up on his cheeks at the thought of Ian. She was right about one thing though-he was fucking gorgeous. And now he knew that fact up close and personal. Fuck, he was screwed.

“It was fine,” Mickey began as he trained his eyes on the TV and the mindless shit that was playing. “He jumped his assistant’s shit only five times today, so that was an improvement. We went to lunch at this new place right down from his building called Carino’s. They have the best damn meatball sub in the world. Ian bought lunch even though I tried to argue with him, but turns out he’s even more fucking stubborn than I am. And did I ever tell you about his car? I usually don’t care about that shit, you know me. But it is gorgeous, it’s a silver Porsche. And his license plates say Jedi Master, which is so fucking stupid, right? Apparently he’s a big Star Wars fan, so you know I had to give him shit about that. And he said……”

Mickey took his eyes off the TV and casually looked over at his sister, who was now blatantly staring at him with a smirk painted on her face. Mickey immediately stopped rubbing the foot in his hands.

“What?”

“You kissed him,” Mandy blurted.

“What?! No the fuck I didn’t!” Mickey countered, trying to hide his shock at his sister’s on point observation. What the fuck? How the fuck could she tell?

“Yes, you did,” Mandy said confidently, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’ve lost your damn mind.” Mickey stood up and walked to the kitchen, pacing like a caged animal. Mandy turned on her side to watch him, smirk still dancing on her lips.

“You can deny it all you want. But I know you, brother. And there was only one other time you talked like that about someone. You know exactly who the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Would you shut the fuck up!” Mickey yelled. He certainly didn’t want to talk about that at the moment. He was still trying to process the fact that his sister saw right through him. Why the fuck did he have to run his goddamn mouth? He could’ve stopped at ‘fine’ but no he had to keep babbling about his boss who he had the hots for.

He walked back into the living room past the couch and turned around to face his sister, who had turned back toward him. He knew Mandy was right. She did know him, and she picked up on what he had no idea he was admitting.

“How the fuck did you know?”

“So it’s true?!” Mandy’s eyes went wide as she clapped her hands together.

“The fuck, Mandy? You just said you knew I kissed him!” God, she was exhausting sometimes.

“I knew you liked him by the way you talked about him, but the kissing thing I wasn’t so sure. Damn, Mick.”

She smiled wide at him. If she wasn’t a female and his sister, he’d punch that smile right off her face.

“You are unfuckingbelievable, Mandy.”

“Thank you,” she answered proudly.

“That wasn’t a fucking compliment!”

“Will you just shut up and sit down and tell me all about the kiss?” She urged, patting the end of the couch.

“Fuck, no. I’m not telling you a damn thing. You can fucking forget it.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Mandy grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and started surfing channels. Mickey shot her a skeptical look. He knew better. He knew this wasn’t the end of it.

“What do you mean?” He put his hands on his hips in a defensive stance.

“I mean, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just call somebody who will,” she answered as she kept pressing buttons on the remote, not looking at him.

“Like who?”

“Mick, he’s a successful businessman. He’s not unattainable. And I can be very persuasive.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Mickey drawled, taking in Mandy’s stubborn expression.

“Oh, yes I would.”

Mickey reached down and grabbed her feet, a little more forcefully this time, and plopped down on the couch. “Fuck, fine. What do you want to know?”

Mandy straightened up and turned the TV off, giving him her undivided attention. Fuck.

“Well, for starters, tell me how the fuck that even happened. Last I heard, you hated the guy’s guts.”

Mickey sighed loudly, not really sure where to start. He didn’t really have an answer. It just sort of happened before he even realized it was happening.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Mickey shrugged, leaning over to grab his beer and take a pull from it. “He had a business dinner but the asshole didn’t show, so we started talking, and things just kinda escalated from there.”

“Obviously,” Mandy snickered.

“Do you want to fucking hear this or not?” Mickey asked. He was already embarrassed to be talking about this shit anyway, and she wasn’t making it any damn easier.

“Sorry. Continue,” she said with a rolling motion of her hand.

Mickey took another drink from his bottle, anxiously picking at the label as he talked. “So yesterday when I dropped him off at his apartment, we kinda had a,” Mickey swatted his hand through the air like he was looking for the right word, “thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yes, a thing. A moment, or whatever the fuck. As I was leaving, we just looked at each other, but goddamn it was hot.” He was going to leave the fact that he made a damn fool of himself right before that to himself. That wasn’t relevant to the story anyway, fuck you very much.

“And?”

“And,” Mickey mocked, clearly annoyed, “we had a fucking awesome day at work today, and when I dropped him off at his apartment after doing my security check, he was acting all weird and shit, so I asked him what was wrong, and he kissed me.” Mickey glanced over in time to see his sister’s eyebrows rise at that piece of information. “It got pretty hot and heavy, but when we fell onto the couch, I stopped it.”

“Why the hell did you go and do a thing like that, dumbass?” Mandy asked as she slapped his arm roughly.

“What the fuck, bitch? That hurt!”

“Well, answer me!”

“What? He’s my boss, Mandy! Need I say more? I can’t be getting involved with him.”

“Mickey, listen to me.” Mandy sat up with her hands propped on her knees, looking him straight in the eye. “I understand your hesitation, I do. But, you found a guy who’s good looking, nice, you obviously have fun together. He’s a good kisser, right?”

“Fuck, yeah he is,” Mickey tried to hide his smile behind his beer bottle as he brought it to his lips, thinking about their kiss from earlier. There was absolutely no doubt about that-the man could kiss.

“Plus he’s rich as fuck. What more could you want?” Mandy shrugged.

“For him not to be my boss. That’s his one fucking flaw.” Mickey took another swig of his beer and slammed it back down on the coffee table a little more forcefully than he meant to.

“I know that sucks,” Mandy conceded, turning serious, as she patted his knee. “Let me ask you this. When is his contract up?”

“It’s an open-ended contract. He will need me until they catch the guy who threatened him. I hope I catch the bastard. I’ll kill him with my own bare hands.” The heat rose up on Mickey’s neck at the thought of anyone coming near Ian to hurt him. He would do anything in his power for that not to happen.

“Shit, Mick,” Mandy breathed. “I thought this was just you talking about wanting to get your dick wet. But…. you really do care about him, don’t you?”

“What?” Mickey looked at her like she had grown two heads. “No, I fucking don’t, “Mickey defended harshly.

Mandy shook her head and put her hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, brother. Just be careful, okay? That’s all I ask.”

“Oh, unlike last time, huh?”

“Mickey, that’s not what meant and….” Mandy stopped talking and a low moan escaped her throat as her hand flew to her mouth and covered it completely. “Oh, shit,” Mickey heard, muffled behind her hand. She threw the blanket off of her body and jumped up, running as fast as she could toward the bathroom. Mickey immediately followed her, knowing all too well what was happening. She made it to the toilet just in time and threw up right as she was lifting the seat and kneeling down in front of it.

Mickey went to the bathroom cabinet and grabbed a wash cloth, turned on the faucet and let the water warm up before running the rag under it while she continued to vomit beside him. This had unfortunately become a common occurrence ever since Mandy started taking chemo. 

Of course Mickey had known about this specific side effect of chemo, but seeing it in the flesh, and seeing his sister go through it, made it all that much more real. And made Mickey feel absolutely useless. He hated this fucking disease and everything about it. Hated what it had taken from them, from Mandy. His problems suddenly felt very fucking trivial and he felt like an asshole for worrying her with his shit.

He heard the toilet flush and Mandy groan loudly, so he turned the water off and squeezed the excess water out of the rag. She pulled the toilet lid down and sat down. Her face was red and tear-streaked, her eyes closed.

Mickey straightened out the rag and, starting at her forehead, wiped the rag along her skin softly. After a couple minutes, he had wiped down her whole face.

“I’m sorry, Mick,” Mandy said weakly.

“For what?” Mickey asked incredulously. What the hell did she have to be sorry for?

“For putting you through this. For being fucking sick,” Mandy sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand.

“Stop,” Mickey said firmly as he braced his hands on her face and looked at her straight in the eyes. “Don’t fucking apologize for this shit, do you hear me? I’m just so damn glad I can be here to help you, and not out on the road. You’re fucking family, Mandy. This is what we do, alright? We help each other. We annoy the fuck out of each other, and we help each other. Those two things are what make us who the fuck we are. You understand me?”

Mandy nodded slowly, the tears falling slowly down her face. Mickey wiped them away with his thumbs, then kissed her forehead gently. “Now, come on, I’ll help you to bed.”

Mandy let Mickey help her up, and they walked together to her bedroom, Mickey’s problems all but forgotten.

________________________

The next morning, Mickey woke up from a restless sleep the night before. After putting Mandy to bed, he had gone to bed himself, trying to will himself to fall asleep with no luck. He kept picturing bright, red hair and green eyes, kept remembering the feel of Ian’s lips on his. That in turn caused his dick to get hard and after only a few tugs, he was coming hard in his hand. But even that didn’t relax him enough to allow him to go to sleep.

Mandy’s words about being careful kept flitting through his mind. If he had been careful, he never would’ve kissed Ian back. Never would’ve let Ian kiss him in the first place. But dammit, he wanted him to. He wanted it just as much as Ian did. He couldn’t deny that. And if it was any other situation, he would’ve let Ian fuck him right then and there on that couch. Maybe, Mickey reasoned, he just needed to get laid. Then he could stop thinking of and jacking off to his boss. He made the conscious decision to take a trip to the Fairy Tail that night and find someone willing to fuck his boss right out of his mind.

He got up, shaved, took a shower, brushed his teeth, and got dressed before going into the kitchen to fix him some cereal for breakfast. He sat down at the kitchen table with his bowl of Lucky Charms. It was then that he noticed the Out Magazine in the center of the table, the same one with Ian Gallagher on the cover. Why the hell was this in here? Just fucking great. He was trying to get the guy out of his mind and he sure as hell couldn’t do it with him just a few inches away from him, looking hot as fuck.

Mickey absentmindedly spooned his cereal into his mouth as those sparkling green eyes stared back at him. He never even looked at the article when Mandy had shown the magazine to him. He had been too freaked out to even look. He figured it wouldn’t be anything wrong with just looking at it now, right? He glanced quickly down the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before he slowly turned the front page and found the page where his article started in the table of contents. 

He flipped to the article and there he was in all his redheaded, gorgeous glory. He was standing with his hands in his pants pockets, wearing a green sweater that made his hair stand out even more. Fuck, he was sexy. His head was turned, like he was looking out at something, serious and contemplative. In this picture you could see a smattering of freckles across his nose. And those pink lips, the same ones that had been on his the night before…….

“What the hell are you, twelve?” Iggy asked as he walked into the kitchen, startling Mickey. He hastily closed the magazine, hoping Iggy didn’t see him ogling his boss.

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” Mickey asked with a mouthful of cereal. “And good morning to you too, asshole.”

“Lucky Charms? Seriously?” Iggy admonished, while he grabbed a can of viennas from the kitchen cabinet and a fork from the drawer.

“And viennas are the epitome of fine dining?”

Iggy turned the kitchen chair around backwards and straddled it. “Viennas are poor man’s steak, my brother.”

Mickey watched him stab one sausage and put the whole thing in his mouth. “They are fucking disgusting, is what they are.” Mickey stood up to rinse out his bowl in the sink. “Anyway, I’d love to sit here and watch you stuff your face with that shit, but I gotta get to work.”

Iggy just shrugged, too busy concentrating on his can of processed meat.

Mickey walked to the coat rack in the corner of the living room to put on his coat and scarf. “I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up.”

“Ah, finally going to find somebody to rub dicks with, huh?” Iggy teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows, much to Mickey’s annoyance.

“None of your fucking business what I’m doing.” Mickey opened the door to a gust of cold air that immediately chilled him to the bone. “Later,” he called as he huddled deeper into his leather jacket, and shut the door behind him.

A few minutes later, he was on the El headed to Ian’s apartment, and the anxiety was settling right into the pit of his stomach. On the one hand, he was excited about seeing Ian again. That had become a regular thing since they started talking and hanging out. But on the other hand, he was nervous as hell because of how things were left between them. Ian didn’t even turn and look at him when he’d apologized before he left the night before. He didn’t know how he was going to react this morning, or what was going to happen between them.

Mickey didn’t want things to change between them. He enjoyed talking to Ian and getting to know the real Ian had been exciting and….surprising. He had no idea that someone who liked to be perceived as a hard ass businessman could be so cool. He hoped he didn’t fuck things up between them. He thought he was doing the rational, responsible thing and he just hoped Ian could understand that.

But that wasn’t the only thing bothering Mickey. He was also afraid that, as soon as he saw Ian again, all of his reasoning would go right out the fucking window, along with his willingness to give a shit whether he ruined his career or not. He must really be fucking losing it. Nobody was worth that, were they?

As Mickey walked toward Ian’s apartment building, his anxiety grew exponentially with each step. He absently waved at the doorman and the front desk clerk, then made his way to the elevators, the heat in the building suddenly making him feel smothered. He fanned his jacket trying to circulate some air in the small space of the elevator. Luckily, he was the lone passenger, so no one could witness his minor meltdown.

The doors dinged when they reached the top floor and opened to let Mickey exit. He stepped out and into the hallway. When he reached Ian’s door, he took a deep breath, and with a shaky hand, knocked loudly below the gold embossed numbers. He glanced at his watch to see that it was 7:02AM. Shit, he was late. Mickey knew Ian’s reaction to his tardiness would be the true test as to whether they were okay or not.

He heard some commotion inside and finally, the door swung open. “Good morning, Mickey.”

Ian seemed cheerful enough, but right away, Mickey knew something was off. He smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And he wouldn’t look at him, choosing instead to look at the floor. What did he call him? Were they back to the formalities? Mickey decided to play it safe and revert back to his former way he had addressed him.

“Good morning, Mr. Gallagher.” Ian’s face immediately fell, like he was disappointed. Shit, now Mickey felt like a dick. “I mean, Ian,” Mickey corrected as he nervously scratched under his nose with his thumbnail.

Ian didn’t respond, only nodded as he shut the door to his apartment and locked it. “You ready?”

“Uh, yeah. I still have to do the security check on your car. Sorry, I was trying to get here on time.”

“That’s alright. I have to make a call anyway. I can do that while you’re doing your check.” Mickey released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a small sigh of relief that Ian wasn’t pissed that he was late.

Ian hitched his messenger bag higher on his shoulder as they entered the elevator. Being in the small space, Mickey could fully appreciate his scent. He smelled of expensive cologne and body wash. His hair was still slightly damp on the ends and all Mickey could think about was how his hands had been running through it the previous night and how good it had felt between his fingers.

If Ian was having any of the same inappropriate thoughts Mickey was having, he sure wasn’t letting on. He was cool as a fucking cucumber, as they say. Although, Mickey did notice his eyes glance briefly to him peripherally even though his head remained looking straight ahead, or so he thought he did. Maybe he was imagining shit.

A few minutes later, Mickey had done his security clearance and they were in his car headed to work. An uncomfortable silence ensued. Mickey’s fingers tapped anxiously on his knee, while Ian’s tapped the steering wheel. At that moment, a Cassie Sinclair song began playing on the radio and Mickey couldn’t help the smirk that broke out on his face. He looked over at Ian, but all he did was clear his throat and remain steadfastly watching the road expressionless.

Okay, now Mickey definitely knew something was wrong. He silently berated himself for fucking up the good thing they had going. Now, shit was awkward and unpleasant between them. He blamed himself for causing this, even though he still thought he had done the right thing. But, at this moment, everything was anything but right.

When they got to the office, Ian sat down at his desk and started typing on his laptop. Tim came in a few minutes later for their morning meeting.

After Tim left, Mickey tried to break the tension. “Tim seemed to be in a bad mood today, huh? What crawled up his ass?” Mickey had started making some quip about Tim after he left Ian’s office in the mornings, much to Ian’s amusement. They had gotten to where they loved talking shit about him. It had become a morning ritual.

“Perhaps he’s just tired,” Ian shrugged in response, his head down, reviewing some contract Tim had handed him.

Mickey’s face fell in disappointment, but Ian never saw it, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him. _Fuck_.

____________________

The day dragged on in pretty much the same way, with Mickey trying to get some kind of reaction from Ian by being his usual, snarky, smart ass self, and getting absolutely fucking nothing in return. Not even a smirk, or small smile. It was a complete 180 from how they were before. There was no witty banter, no laughs, no sarcastic remarks. It was fucking awkward as hell and Mickey couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, take Ian home and high tail it to the Fairy Tail and get fucking wasted and royally fucked.

When the day finally ended, they got into Ian’s car and headed back to his apartment. Mickey didn’t even try to break the ice this time, figuring it was pretty much a lost cause at this point. He just sat there, silent, as Ian sat beside him, his shoulders stiff and his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Tension filled the cab of the car. It was like somebody had taken a pin to their balloon and popped it, releasing everything good they had between them and replaced it with stilted silence and awkwardness.

Mickey tried to tell himself that this was a good thing. They were acting like they should now-employer and employee. Bodyguard and client. And nothing more. It fucking sucks, but that’s where they were now, which was for the best. Mickey was still pissed, pissed at himself for allowing the shit to happen, but maybe they could now move past it and at least have a civil professional relationship.

They made it to Ian’s building, then to his apartment. Mickey entered just like usual and did his sweep. But when he came back to the front door, Ian was nowhere to be found. Mickey left Ian’s apartment, then his building in time to hop on the El and head straight for Boys Town.

______________________________

The place was alive with energy, the techno beat pumping through the walls and the floor, the booze was flowing, and Mickey sat at the bar nursing his third gin and juice, feeling no pain. He looked around for a good conquest when a tall, blonde haired guy with toned arms and abs he could see through his tight t-shirt even from where he was sitting, caught his eye as he danced. He nodded, inviting him over to the bar.

The guy gave him a sly smile as he made his way through the crowd toward him. As he got closer, Mickey saw that he was even better looking the closer he got. He felt his dick twitch in his pants. Goddamn, he was horny and ready to take this guy home and let him fuck the shit out of him.

“Hey, man,” the blonde said as he sidled up to him. “You are fucking hot,” the guy remarked as he looked him up and down.

Mickey took another drink from his glass, eyeing him over the rim and loving what he saw. “What’s your name?”

“Seth. What’s yours?”

Mickey leaned in to Seth’s ear to be heard over the loud music. “Mickey,” he told him. His hand came down to the man’s crotch as his tongue darted out to run along the shell of his ear. Mickey palmed his dick through his jeans, and felt it get hard under his touch. Fuck, he loved when that happened. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling, while at the same time trying to ignore his treacherous brain that kept picturing red hair and soft, green eyes.

Seth leaned down to Mickey’s ear and a low moan escaped his throat. “God, that feels good.” Seth ran his hand along the outside of Mickey’s thigh, sliding over the top of his leg and squeezing the hard muscle there. His hand continued on to his inner thigh and slid up toward the now noticeable bulge in his jeans. He pressed hard against it and his hot breath fanned over Mickey’s ear, causing a chill to shoot down his spine. “Wanna get the fuck outta here?”

Mickey nodded and stood up from his stool, throwing some loose bills onto the bar while swallowing down the last of his drink, hoping the alcohol would burn away the gnawing guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach. What the fuck did he have to feel guilty about? It wasn’t like Ian was his boyfriend, and judging by his behavior that day, he didn’t want to be anything to Mickey except his boss. He was single, and if he wanted to take some hot random home and ride him into his mattress, that was his business.

___________________________________

Ian stood in the far corner of the club, propped up against the wall with one leg crossed over the other. This was his usual perch while he checked out the guys and decided on the one he would take home for the night. But no matter how many hot guys passed by him and checked him out, and there were plenty tonight, none of them compared to Mickey. None of them had his raw, rugged charisma or his sexy swagger. They all paled in comparison, and frankly, it was pissing him off.

Ian took another swig of his vodka tonic as he cursed himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He was furious with himself for a lot of reasons. He never should have made a move on Mickey-it was extremely inappropriate and unprofessional. He knew it had made Mickey uncomfortable, judging by the way he practically ran out of his apartment the night before, and Ian hated himself for putting Mickey in that position. That’s why he just shut him out today at work. He just couldn’t talk to him or even look at him without utter shame and embarrassment eating away at him.

He just wanted to forget about how badly he had fucked up, forget about Mickey. But everywhere he looked, he saw black hair and sparking blue eyes, and that sexy damn smirk. No amount of alcohol seemed to help either, and he was on his fifth already.

A sexy brown haired, brown eyed guy caught his eye just then, dancing on the floor and watching him with lecherous eyes. He was a little shorter than Ian but not by much, had a really nice body and a dazzling smile. Their eyes locked on each other and the stranger slowly made his way over to him. As he moved his head to the music, something caught Ian’s eye in the distance.

At the bar, he saw a cute blonde standing beside a guy with jet black hair, practically dry humping him from what it looked like. The black haired guy sitting down then stood up, and Ian’s glass slipped right out of his hand, but he never even heard it shatter on the floor. He also never heard the guy from the dance floor walk up to him, offer to help clean up the mess and ask to buy him another drink.

All he could focus on was seeing Mickey at the bar with some stranger, and the green-eyed monster that was rearing its ugly head. All Ian saw was fire, a jealous rage bubbling up in him so fierce, he thought it would burn him alive. And it only seemed to get worse with each step he took toward the bar.

When he finally reached them, blondie was turned toward Mickey, leaning down and whispering something in his ear. Mickey smiled that beautiful smile of his, which zapped the last tiny bit of rational thought from Ian’s mind as his hand came up to the back of the blonde’s neck and he jerked him away from Mickey.

“Hey, what the fuck!” the blonde shrieked. He even sounded like a pussy.

Mickey’s eyes went wide as he saw who their uninvited guest was. “Ian, what the fuck are you doing?!”

“Oh, you know, nothing much,” Ian sneered. “Just taking out the trash!”

“Get your fucking hands off me, you piece of shit!” Seth bellowed, his arms flailing.

Ian used his other hand to grab his belt from behind and started leading him toward the front door.

“Gallagher, stop!” Mickey yelled as he tried unsuccessfully to pull him off of Seth. Ian’s rage was spurring him on at this point.

“You know this asshole?!” Seth asked, his frantic eyes darting around, looking for Mickey.

Before Mickey could answer him, Ian responded but not before turning the guy around and grabbing him roughly by the collar. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare, you son of a bitch,” Ian spat harshly, his face inches from the other man’s, his voice gruff. “That’s all the fuck you need to know. You stay away from Mickey, and we won’t have a problem. Got it?”

Before Mickey could explode in anger at Ian’s outburst, Kevin, one of the bouncers, walked up and parted the crowd that had gathered around them. “Take it outside, gentlemen,” Kevin warned with booming authority.

“I got it, Kevin,” Mickey assured, adding embarrassment to his seething anger that one of his old bouncer buddies had to witness this ridiculous display of machismo over him. The fact that his insides were churning with excitement over seeing Ian so jealous was irrelevant.

Ian pushed Seth roughly, causing him to land hard and go flying across the floor. He scrambled to his feet and shouted back at Ian, “You crazy motherfucker!” as he threw open the door of the club and ran out.

Mickey shoved Ian from behind, causing him to stumble. “The fuck’s the matter with you, huh?!”

Mickey hadn’t realized Kevin was still standing right there with them until he heard his loud voice. “OUT…..SIDE. I’m not saying it again.”

“We’re leaving,” Mickey reassured, putting his hands on Ian’s waist and pushing him out the door.

Once they were finally outside in the parking lot and at a safe distance from the club and a shitload of people, he grabbed onto Ian’s arms and turned him roughly to face him.

“First of all, what the hell are you doing here by yourself, Gallagher? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Like you give a shit what I do,” Ian slurred, clearly well past plastered.

“I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to give a shit what you do.”

Ian scoffed derisively. “Oh, that’s fucking rich.”

“What?” Mickey screwed up his face in confusion. “You’re not making one bit of damn sense.” He pointed back toward the club. “What the fuck was that in there, Gallagher? You had no goddamn right butting into my business. ”

“Fuck you, Mickey. Go fuck the whole damn club. See if I give a shit.”

Ian started walking away from him, swaying a little as he did. Mickey watched him carefully. His worry overrode his anger for a split second. He had never seen Ian this drunk and it scared him a little.

“Why do you give a shit, huh? Why are you acting like a jealous boyfriend all of a sudden? Fucking look at me, dammit!” Mickey turned him around again, and met his glazed eyes and stubborn expression. “Ever since I started working for you, you’ve treated me like some hired hand, and then one night you kiss me and I’m supposed to roll over and thank my lucky stars? I’m sorry, I don’t downshift that fast.”

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

“Then how was it, then? Please enlighten me since you’re such a fucking genius.”

“Just don’t worry about it.”

With that, Ian turned around and began walking across the parking lot, his footing more steady this time, making his long strides hard for Mickey to keep up with. As Mickey followed behind him, Ian’s Porsche came into view and Ian reached in his pocket and pulled out the keys and pressed the unlock button on the key faub.

“Oh, hell, no!” Mickey exclaimed as he ran past Ian, getting to the car before he did and leaning against the driver’s side door, effectively blocking it. “Give me your keys, Ian,” he demanded as he held out his hand.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Ian warned with a scowl. He grabbed Mickey by the arms and tried to push him away from the car door.

“Give me your keys and I will!” Mickey said as they struggled. Even though Mickey was his bodyguard and was strong in his own right, he realized just then how easy Ian could overpower him. But he wasn’t going down without a fight and there was no way in hell he was going to let Ian leave this parking lot behind the wheel.

“Kiss my ass!” Ian spat as Mickey tried to reach for the keys. He was able to keep them out of his reach at first, with Mickey grabbing for them several times unsuccessfully. But in Ian’s drunken stupor, his reflexes weren’t fast enough and Mickey was able to turn him around as he grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back until he was forced to let go, the keys dropping into Mickey’s hand.

But before Mickey could celebrate his minor victory, and before he knew what was happening, Ian turned sharply to face him. His arms darted out on either side of Mickey’s body, his hands placed flat on the roof of the car, effectively caging Mickey in. Ian’s eyes scanned his face, darting from his lips, back to his eyes then back down again as he moved in slowly. Mickey was frozen where he stood, entranced by the overpowering warmth and feel of Ian’s body against his. He was close enough now that Mickey could smell the vodka on his breath and the cologne on his skin. The combination had him reeling, as Ian’s lips finally landed softly on his. The taste of the vodka was even better.

Mickey turned his head to deepen the kiss as Ian’s warm hands moved to frame his face, his fingers brushing lightly over his chilled skin, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. Their tongues danced together as Mickey brought his hands up and wrapped them around Ian’s neck, dropping the forgotten keys to the ground.

The sound jolted Ian enough that he tore his lips away and turned in the opposite direction. “God, I’m so fucking stupid!”

Ian paced back and forth, his head in his hands as Mickey was trying to get his wits about him enough to register what he’d just said.

“Ian, would you stop pacing, please? You’re making me dizzy.” Mickey wasn’t going to admit that his kiss along with the alcohol he had consumed himself had more to do with that than his pacing.

Ian stopped moving, standing a few feet away from him with his head down, obviously unable to look him in the eye. He shook his head back and forth sadly.

“I’m sorry, Mick,” Ian said so pitifully it made Mickey’s chest hurt.

“Man, you didn’t do anything that I didn’t want you to,” Mickey admitted. “I’m just as much to blame as you are.”

“The fuck you are,” Ian scoffed. “I’m your boss. I should know better. I’ve never mixed business with pleasure. That’s one of the cardinal rules, Mickey. And I threw everything I believed in right out the window, risked my career, and made a fool out of myself because I can’t keep my damn dick in my pants.”

“Look, I should’ve known better too. I went through this shit before…..” Mickey clamped his mouth shut when Ian’s head snapped up at his words and realization hit as to what he’d just said.

“What?” Ian asked as he stepped closer, the shock in his voice unmistakable.

“Nothing, I…..” Mickey knew he had said too much. His head lowered this time, unable to meet Ian’s imploring eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, knuckling his nose.

Ian walked up and placed his hands on his arms. “What happened, Mickey?”

“I said,” Mickey answered emphatically as he broke out of Ian’s grasp, “I don’t want to talk about it.” He hoped like hell Ian would drop the subject. He did.

“Fine,” Ian conceded, annoyance peppering his tone. “Can we just agree to go back to the way things were before last night? I fucked up, I know that. I won’t let it happen again. I promise.” He put his palm up as if he was swearing an oath.

Mickey huffed, pissed at himself for the disappointment he felt hearing Ian say those words. The logical part of his brain knew that was the best thing for both of them, though. He nodded in agreement.

“So outside of work, we’re just friends. Agreed?” Ian extended his hand for Mickey to shake.

Mickey glanced down at his hand unsurely. He finally reached out and grasped his hand firmly, both of their eyes flitting up. Ian obviously felt the same electrical current Mickey did when they touched. Holy hell, just being friends with this guy was going to be torture. But if Ian could do it, dammit, he could too.

Ian was the first to break the contact, even though it went on a little too long to be called “friendly.” Mickey reached down and picked up the keys from the ground and put them in his pocket.

“Now, give me my keys, please,” Ian requested with a smile.

“Oh, you’re a poet and didn’t know it, huh?” Mickey smirked with an arched brow.

“Mickey….”

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘Friends don’t let friends drive drunk’ Ian?”

“Oh, look at that.” Ian pointed toward the sky.

“What?” Mickey turned around, puzzled. What the hell was he talking about? He kept his eye on him though, thinking he was trying to distract him in order to steal the keys back.

“You don’t see it?”

“See what, you quack!”

“It says ‘The More You Know’ with a shooting star right over your head, “Ian smirked. “I asked for my keys, not a damn after school special.”

Mickey busted out laughing at the redhead’s absurdity. “You are fucking nuts, you know that? And you’re absolutely insane if you think I’m letting you drive out of here right now. In fact, I’m not in any shape to drive either. So,” Mickey pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket, “I am calling you an Uber.”

Ian put his hands on his hips. “And how do you suggest I get my car home? I don’t want to leave my Porsche here all night.”

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you drank five gallons of vodka,” Mickey quipped. “I will take the El and come get it in the morning. Then I will come pick you up.”

“How are you going to get home?” Ian asked, the concern in his voice causing a flutter in Mickey’s stomach that he tried to ignore.

“I’ll just take the El. It’s no big deal,” Mickey shrugged.

“No, absolutely not. It’s way too late to take the El. Do you know the kind of miscreants that ride that thing this late? I’ll have the Uber take you home, my treat.”

“Ian, that’s not necessary, really.”

“Case closed. Do not argue with your boss,” Ian warned with fake sternness.

Mickey didn’t even bother, knowing it was useless anyway. He dialed the number he had pulled up and watched Ian’s face break out in a smile of satisfaction knowing he had won. This time. 

________________________________

The Uber ride to Ian’s apartment could only be called one thing: awkward. They sat in the back of the car, silently looking out of their respective windows. Mickey’s knee was bouncing nervously while Ian chewed on his thumbnail.

Mickey placed his hand on the seat beside him, but what he didn’t know was that at the same time, Ian was doing the same. Their fingers touched, and the spark that shot through him had Mickey jerking his hand away. He turned his head to find Ian watching him, a knowing smile spread across his face before he turned back to the window.

Mickey sighed and decided then and there to take a long, cold shower when he got home.

The Uber finally pulled up to Ian’s apartment. Ian leaned up and took out his wallet, counting out five one hundred dollar bills. Mickey’s mouth dropped open in shock. That was way too much damn money to give the driver but Mickey kept his mouth shut. If Ian wanted to blow his money on this jerkoff, that was on him.

“Take my friend here anywhere he wishes to go,” Ian instructed as he held the money out to the driver.

“Yes, sir,” the driver said emphatically in a heavy Indian accent.

Ian climbed out of the car, leaning down to peer in before closing the door. “Good night, Mickey,” he said with a soft smile.

Mickey respond with a wave and tried to tamp down the various things that smile was doing to him. “Good night, Ian.”

The Uber sped off as soon as Ian closed his door. Mickey didn’t see Ian standing on the sidewalk, watching the Uber drive away and not turning around to walk into his apartment building until it had turned the corner and disappeared into the night.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey are trying to be friends. It takes a turn that neither of them were expecting.

It was Saturday morning, Rosario had the weekend off, and Ian was sitting at his desk in his home office, popping a couple aspirin in an attempt to remedy the tremendous hangover he currently had. He groaned as he turned up his bottle of water, realizing that even doing that hurt like hell.

He had been trying to get some work done, but it was useless. All he did was stare blankly at his computer screen while thoughts of the night before flitted through his mind. He was pretty drunk last night, but even that didn’t help him forget how foolish he’d acted, getting irrationally jealous of the blonde that was all up on Mickey at the bar.

What had gotten into him to think that he had any claim over Mickey? He was Ian’s employee, not his boyfriend. Mickey was right-he overreacted and it was uncalled for. And that kiss….fuck, it felt so good to be near Mickey, to feel his body against his, to feel his lips on his. And to feel him kissing back with just as much heat turned Ian on so damn much. But as good as it had felt, and even though Mickey had said that Ian hadn’t done anything Mickey didn’t want him to, it was still wrong on so many levels.

After the other night and Ian kissing him that first time, he had berated himself all night and tossed and turned in the bed, thinking about how stupid he had been to cross that line with Mickey. The attraction between them was evident, but that didn’t mean he should’ve acted on it. He wouldn’t have blamed Mickey if he had decked him right then and there. But he didn’t. In fact, he seemed to get into it just as much as Ian, which scared him even more.

The shame and guilt ate away at Ian so much that he hadn’t known how to act around Mickey the next morning, so he just went back into defense mode, avoiding eye contact and conversation whenever possible. He didn’t want to be outright rude to the guy, they had gotten past that point and Ian didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But he just couldn’t look in those blue eyes knowing what he had done the night before.

When he went to the club after their awkward work day fully intending on getting shit-faced and laid, the last thing he expected to see was Mickey, especially with some hot blonde guy. As soon as he spotted them, it was like sirens were going off in his head and he just reacted. He wanted to blame it on the alcohol, which surely didn’t help matters, but he knew exactly what he was doing. It’s the ‘why’ that was giving him fits.

When Mickey had confronted him about it, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even explain it to himself. How was he going to explain it to Mickey? At least he’d had the foresight to tell Mickey that they should be just friends outside of work. The fact was, he liked who he was (most of the time) when he was with Mickey. He wanted him in his life, and not just as his bodyguard. Even though he didn’t have a lot of experience with having friends, he was willing to make the effort for Mickey.

Ian’s cell phone buzzed on the desk beside him, breaking him from his thoughts. Probably his CFO with the figures he had been waiting on him to send. He glanced down and saw Mickey’s name illuminating the screen. Holy shit. Mickey had never texted him before. They exchanged numbers in the beginning for work purposes but had never texted each other before. And especially not on a Saturday. What could he want? Ian tapped the screen and the message popped up.

_I was drunker last night than I thought. I told you I’d pick you up this morning, but it’s fucking Saturday. Got your car though and on the way to drop it off. _

The Porsche! Holy fuck, he had forgotten all about his car. He didn’t even remember Mickey saying he was picking him up. He must have been a lot drunker than he realized too. Even though he remembered every other embarrassingly awful detail.

As he made a mental note to avoid vodka in the future, he looked down at himself and took in the navy blue sweat pants and gray tank top. It was his habit of always looking professional in front of employees and not his nervousness about seeing Mickey that had him running to his bedroom, shedding his clothes on the way. He was almost sure of it.

After rummaging through his closet for several minutes, he finally settled on a pair of dark wash jeans and a gray V-neck sweater. He put on a pair of Armani leather loafers, sprayed a little Clive Christian cologne on, and hastily checked his hair in the mirror on his way out of the room.

He walked back to his office to grab his phone when he saw there was another message from Mickey.

_Car is safe and sound in the garage. See you Monday. _

Well, fuck. Ian’s heart fell as disappointment washed over him. He thought for sure Mickey would at least come up and say hello. His fingers were moving across his phone keyboard before he could stop them.

_Why don’t you come up? Unless you have other plans. _

_ I_t seemed like years as Ian paced across his office floor, waiting for a response. Probably no more than thirty seconds later, it came.

_K_

So simple, yet so Mickey. Ian took a deep breath to calm himself as he made his way to the same couch they had been on a couple nights before. Ian quickly squashed that thought. “Would you calm the fuck down,” Ian whispered to himself with gritted teeth. “You act like you’ve never had friends before.”

And in that moment, Ian realized sadly, that he hadn’t. Before he could wallow too much in self-pity, the doorbell rang and Ian jumped in his seat. He stood up and made his way to the front door.

As he opened the door, he realized in that moment that he’d never seen Mickey in casual clothes. He was always at least wearing dress pants and a button down shirt. Today he was wearing jeans, boots, and a dark blue sweater that hugged his chest in all the right places. He had on his black leather jacket and was looking at him through a pair of dark Ray Ban sunglasses. Holy hell.

“Hey, Mick,” Ian greeted as he schooled his mouth to not break out into an all-out grin like it wanted to.

“Hey, Ian,” Mickey smiled slightly as he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the V of his sweater. Ian liked to believe Mickey was trying hard not to smile big too.

Ian waved him in and they stood in the foyer for a few moments of awkward silence.

“Want something to drink? I got water, beer…..” Ian trailed off as he walked to the kitchen.

“Ugh, no beer for me,” Mickey groaned as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “Water’s fine.”

“I take it your hangover is kicking your ass, too, huh?”

Mickey removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the corner as Ian brought their waters over to the coffee table in front of the couch.

They both sat down, on either ends of the couch. “Yeah, you could say that,” Mickey smirked.

“I have some aspirin. You’re welcome to it.”

Mickey took a swig from his water bottle then sat it back down. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Ian sat up with his elbows on his knees as he stared at the bottle in his hands, not sure how to begin what he wanted to say. He felt he owed Mickey an apology about last night, but he just didn’t know how to go about it. He wasn’t used to apologizing for shit, so he had no idea how to do it.

He felt the couch move and saw in his peripheral vision that Mickey had sat back, crossing one leg over the other at the knee.

As Ian took a deep breath and readied himself, Mickey’s voice cut through the silence.

“What you got that big ass fancy TV for if you’re not going to watch it?”

Ian laughed as he finally looked over and saw Mickey’s cocked eyebrows and slightly turned up lips. Leave it to him to break the tension with a smart ass comment. That gave Ian the little push he needed to man up and say what he wanted to say.

He turned slightly toward Mickey and brought his left leg up to rest on the couch. “I will turn the TV on in a minute, Mick. But first, I wanted to say something.”

Mickey reached over to grab his water bottle again, taking another big drink from it. Only this time he kept it in his hands, looking down at it in much the same way as Ian had his.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry about last night.”

“Ian, look, I told you….”

“No, Mickey, let me finish. I acted horribly and there is no excuse for it. And not just last night. Ever since we’ve met I’ve just been terrible to you and I’m…..it’s…..I’m sorry, okay? And like I said last night, I do want us to be friends. If that’s okay with you.”

Ian took a deep breath and released it, relieved to have that over with. He glanced over at Mickey who was now looking at him with slight annoyance.

“I thought we had this settled last night, man. Everything’s good. Just friends.”

Ian really wanted to bring up what Mickey had let slip the night before about having gone through this in the past, but he decided against it. He didn’t want Mickey getting pissed and storming out, and he figured that’s probably what would most likely happen. He clearly didn’t want to discuss it, even though Ian was dying to know about it.

Ian responded with a nod as he reached for the remote on the table and turned the TV on. It was on ESPN Classic and an old Chicago Bulls game was on. That gave Ian an idea.

“Hey, what do you have planned today?” Ian blurted before he could think it through.

Mickey shot Ian a perplexed look before placing his bottle back on the table.

“Nothing much,” Mickey shrugged. “Why?”

“Well,” Ian began, trying to ignore his brain telling him this was a really bad idea, “I have season courtside seats for the Bulls games. The owner is an important client of ours. I don’t go to the games very often, but just thought maybe you’d like to go to one with me. They’re playing at home tonight.”

Ian scanned Mickey’s face for a reaction as he swiped the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. He didn’t do this shit, he didn’t ask people to hang out with him. But he knew that if they were going to be friends, they had to start somewhere. And Ian really did want Mickey as a friend. He just hoped he didn’t sound like some desperate asshole, but with every passing second of Mickey’s silence, that’s exactly how he felt.

“The Chicago Bulls? Holy shit,” Mickey finally replied with a look of awe on his face. “I’ve never been to one of their games but I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Yeah?” Ian smiled. “I’ve got seats in the Sky Box too if you’d rather sit up there.”

“Hell, no. I want to sit fucking court side. I want to be able to see the blood, sweat, and tears.”

Mickey laughed a little and Ian joined him as the tension he felt a few seconds ago melted away. “Okay, then. Court side it is.”

Ian stood up to throw their bottles away, but Mickey’s voice stopped him. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked as he turned to look at Mickey. He was averting his eyes and thumbing his nose nervously. Ian thought it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“You wanna maybe grab lunch and then head to the game afterwards? I know this great little place. It’s my favorite restaurant. They have _the _best banana pancakes in the fucking world.”

“Banana pancakes? Really?” Ian scrunched up his nose uncertainly as he tried to remember the last time he had even eaten pancakes. He didn’t have time for actually eating breakfast, so his latte’ served that purpose these days.

“Hell, yeah, banana pancakes. What, you don’t like them?” Mickey looked at him as if he had just run over a box of puppies with his car.

“I’ve just never had them,” Ian explained with a chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders. “Never thought of those two things as going together, I guess. I love pancakes though.”

“Well, it’s settled then. I’m taking you there. Prepare to have your mind blown.”

With those words Mickey’s eyes flitted up to lock on Ian’s in a heated stare, the double entendre not lost on either one of them. The intensity was so strong that it had Ian suddenly feeling like all of the air in the room had been sucked out and all that remained was the heat between them.

Ian reluctantly looked away, then back at Mickey, grinning widely despite the sexual tension that was permeating the air. “Sure, Mick. I’d like that.”

They were just friends going to lunch and a game. That was all.

____________________________________________

A couple hours later, after spending the morning talking and watching The Fate of the Furious and arguing over who was hotter, Vin Diesel or Dwayne Johnson (Ian tried unsuccessfully to convince him that Vin Diesel was the hotter of the two) they were on the El heading to…..well, he wasn’t sure where.

Mickey hadn’t told him where they were going, but what he had told him was that it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to take his Porsche, so he didn’t have the best feeling about it.

Ian hadn’t ridden the El since he was in high school, but it was still as nasty as he remembered. If anything, the bums had gotten even more foul-smelling. Mickey’s leg brushed against his as they sat close together on the seat. Ian turned his head toward Mickey who was looking right at him. A smile tugged at the corner of Mickey’s lips, causing Ian to return it with a shy smile of his own.

Ian never realized how much he actually enjoyed smiling and laughing until Mickey came along. Somehow, he did a lot of both whenever his bodyguard was around. It was strange, but in a really good way. Mickey made everything fun, even riding the damn El train, smelly bums all but forgotten.

But even Mickey couldn’t quell the uneasiness Ian felt when he looked out the window and saw a hauntingly familiar scene. The streets were gray and dismal, the people haggard. Even the air he was breathing began to feel stifling. He suddenly had a bad feeling about where they were going.

“Um…..Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“Where exactly is this place we’re going?”

“It’s on the South Side.” Mickey turned to look at him. “On the corner of…..oh, shit.”

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut and put his head back in exasperation with himself as Ian’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell in shock. “Are you fucking kidding me, Mickey?” Ian asked harshly.

Mickey thought back to the night of the canceled business dinner when Ian had mentioned briefly that he was from the South Side and how uneasy he had gotten when his past was brought up. He also found himself mentally scanning the Out Magazine article he had read many more times that he wanted to admit. There was no mention of his family or childhood-just that he was from South Side Chicago.

Mickey was still as South Side as he ever was, even with his success as a bodyguard. It was as much a part of him as the air in his lungs. Living on the streets of the South Side wasn’t easy, that much was clear, but there was a sort of honor code that basically means that you take pride in being from that community no matter how harsh your reality in that place actually is.

He had never known anyone who had grown up there, wanting to get out and forget that place ever existed, and had actually done it. And became massively successful in the process. He was so far removed from that world now that Mickey honestly didn’t think Ian would be affected by it anymore. It was part of his past and nothing more. But now, Mickey suddenly realized just how wrong he was.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey said dejectedly as he scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize coming back here would be a problem for you. We’ll get off at the next stop and go somewhere else. I’m sorry, man.”

Mickey’s head was down now, looking at the stain-ridden floor of the El. He felt like a total inconsiderate prick. The last thing he wanted to do was be the reason for Ian being uncomfortable. He realized he wasn’t necessarily on the clock right now, but he still felt a duty to protect Ian and he had failed.

Just then he felt a hand on the sleeve of his leather jacket. He brought his head up to meet Ian’s eyes, softer now than they were a few seconds ago.

“No, it’s okay, Mick. I’m sorry I overreacted. I want to go wherever you want to.” Ian broke their eye contact to turn and gaze out the window once again. His warm breath caused condensation to form on the cold glass as he spoke. “It’s just this place. It brings back so many….just….” he trailed off. Mickey waited a few moments for him to continue. When he didn’t, Mickey spoke instead.

“Ian,” Mickey said firmly, “it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Like I told you before-you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Ian turned to look at him once again. Mickey hoped the sincerity he felt in his words showed on his face. His reassurance came in the form of a soft smile playing on Ian’s lips.

“Thanks for understanding, Mick. It really means a lot.”

They both nodded in mutual understanding. Mickey had turned his head toward the front of the train again when he felt something on his arm. He glanced over at Ian who was idly watching out the window. He looked down to find Ian’s hand inside the sleeve of his jacket, slowly and softly scratching his nails across Mickey’s forearm.

Mickey knew he should say something and put a stop to it, but the simple fact was, he didn’t want to. It felt way too fucking good. Just that simple touch had Mickey’s insides churning. He closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of Ian’s warm hand on his skin. His skin was soft, his nails blunt as they moved back and forth in a circular pattern leaving a strong electrical charge in their wake.

The train jerked abruptly as they came to their stop. Ian jerked his hand away quickly, much to Mickey’s disappointment.

“Shit, Mick. I’m sorry,” Ian apologized as he moved to stand up. “I didn’t even realize I was doing that! You should’ve slapped my hand and told me to fuck off or something.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Mickey scoffed as they made their way down to the platform of the station.

“Because I was being inappropriate, that’s why,” Ian declared as he huddled deeper into his heavy coat to ward off the brisk winter Chicago air.

“Remember last night when I told you that you haven’t done anything to me that I didn’t want you to?” Mickey asked, stuffing his cold hands deep into his jacket pockets.

“Well, I _was_ overwhelmingly inebriated, but I seem to recall you saying something of that nature. So?”

Mickey fixed him with a pointed look and full on cocked eyebrows until Ian finally got the message and grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I see,” Ian said in understanding.

“Mm hmm,” Mickey responded with a smirk as he turned in the direction they needed to go with Ian walking close beside him.

_____________________________________________

The sidewalk was still as dirty as Ian remembered, the familiar smell of old man body odor and garbage burning his nostrils. A lot of the memories that he had consciously tried to forget came flooding back suddenly, leaving him reeling.

His childhood growing up on the South Side was anything but typical, as most kids in the neighborhood could attest to. Hell, Mickey grew up there too, he knew exactly what it was like. Ian didn’t know much about his life growing up there, but he couldn’t imagine it was much better than what Ian had gone through.

So why was it so hard for Ian to tell Mickey about it? They were supposed to be trying to be friends right? Granted, Ian didn’t have any, so he really wasn’t all too familiar with how it all worked. But didn’t friends tell each other things like that? Confide in each other?

Mickey was being more than understanding with him, which somehow made Ian feel even worse about not confiding in him. A small part of him wanted Mickey to just cuss him out and tell him to just lay all his shit bare and stop being such a pussy. It wasn’t like it was anything any worse than what every other kid went through growing up there, besides being gay. That certainly hadn’t helped matters any. But all that was part of his past. A past that he had worked long and hard trying to erase completely. A past that wasn’t a part of who he was anymore.

It has been so long since Ian had anybody that even gave a damn about him, that he figured he was just having a hard time opening up. His own family had never seemed to care about what he was going through, so why would some guy that he’d just met? Frankly, he didn’t trust people and never had. Until now. Ian trusted Mickey, and that in itself was scary as hell.

The difference was, Mickey did actually seem to care about him, to want to know more about him. Ian always kept everything bottled up, believing that showing any kind of feelings or emotion equaled weakness. Mickey was the first person to ever make him rethink those beliefs.

He wanted to tell him everything, and hopefully they would remain friends and he could get his chance. Some day.

“Here we are,” Mickey announced, breaking Ian from his thoughts, as they came up on what appeared to Ian as a dingy diner that had a yellow sign up top with red lettering.

“Patsy’s Pies?” Ian read from the sign as he eyed the place unsurely.

“Yeah. You ever been here?” Mickey asked, opening the door of the restaurant and motioning for Ian to enter.

“No,” Ian answered cooly as he entered, the heat in the place engulfing him and warming his chilled skin from the bitter November air.

“Just find you a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with ya,” a stocky waitress bellowed from behind the front counter.

Mickey led them to a booth in the back corner where they sat down and began scanning their menus. That same waitress came up a few moments later. 

“My name’s Gretchen. I’ll be serving you today. What can I get you to drink?”

___________________________________________

“Mmmm,” Ian hummed in pleasure. “God, Mick, these pancakes are so fucking good.”

Mickey swallowed the sudden lump in his throat at the sounds Ian was making. He should not be this turned on by a man eating banana pancakes. Ian found a way to make everything sexy it seemed.

“What did I tell ya, man?” Mickey asked, waving his fork in the air. “Milkoviches bullshit about a lot of things, but not about food.”

Ian took another bite of the stack of buttery, syrupy goodness and moaned again, this time loud enough to garner attention from patrons at neighboring tables.

“Would you cut that shit out, Gallagher?” Mickey warned in a harsh whisper. “They’re going to throw us out for public indecency or some shit.”

Ian’s fork and knife clanked against his plate as he burst out laughing with a mouth full of food. Pretty soon Mickey was laughing right along with him. They both ignored the looks they were getting from people around them, too caught up in each other. Mickey suddenly didn’t give a shit who looked their way.

“I guess,” Ian began as he tried to swallow the food in his mouth around his laughter, “now we’ll get thrown out for public drunkenness.”

More laughter ensued as they both held their stomachs and tears streamed down their face from laughing so much. Mickey normally wouldn’t be caught dead doing shit like this. But there was something……magical about Ian when he laughed.

When Mickey first met him, he wasn’t sure the guy even had a sense of humor or even knew what laughter was. Was he ever glad to be wrong.

“Hey, Mickey, it’s good to see you again,” a familiar voice said some distance away. Mickey looked up as his laughter died down and saw the waitress that usually served him when he came here alone. She walked up to him with her signature bright smile and chestnut hair in a ponytail. “You’re in a lot better mood than the last time I saw you. Did you tell your asshole boss to shove it?”

She had reached their table and was looking at Mickey who was giving her the best “shut the hell up” look he could muster. He glanced over at Ian who was giving him a knowing smirk and Mickey just knew he was in a shit ton of trouble.

“Hey, um….” Mickey began nervously. “This is Ian Gallagher. Ian this is……”

The waitress’ mouth dropped open at the mention of his name and her eyes shot over to look at Mickey’s guest. Mickey was taken aback by her reaction. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Ian glanced up at the woman like he was seeing her for the first time. Ian’s face fell suddenly, all trace of laughter gone. His eyes went wide like he had just seen a ghost.

“Fiona?” Ian asked, shock painted on his face.

“Ian?? Oh my God, is it really you?” Fiona asked, confusing Mickey even further. He watched the exchange in bewilderment. She leaned down and engulfed Ian in an all-consuming hug, as tears began to fall down her face and into his red hair.

“Yeah, it’s me, Fi,” Ian answered, his voice muffled by her arm, but Mickey could’ve sworn he heard a break in it.

_Fi? _What the actual hell was going on?


	10. Chapter Ten

“Fuck, Ian. I can’t believe it’s really you,” Fiona stated in disbelief as Mickey’s confused eyes met Ian’s shocked ones. She was still hugging him and kissing him on his head before laying her cheek to rest there, her face turned toward Mickey so that he could see the elated smile on her face and the tears that continued to flow from her eyes.

Ian sat there, frozen in place. Whoever she was to him, this happy reunion was most definitely one-sided. Mickey could see Ian’s chest heaving, his nostrils flaring in anger the longer time passed. He stayed eerily silent until Fiona finally unraveled herself from him, although keeping her hand on his shoulder affectionately as she spoke.

“I don’t even know where to begin, Ian,” she began as she wiped her nose with her free hand. “Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing? How do you know Mickey?” She turned in his direction and paused at the confused look that still resided on his face. “Oh, Mickey, I’m sorry. Let me explain,” she laughed lightly through her tears. “See, I’m Ian’s…….”

“Leave me the fuck alone!” Ian exploded as he grabbed his coat, knocking her hand off his shoulder and jumping up from the booth and running toward the front entrance of the diner. Fiona and Mickey followed him with their eyes as he pushed the door open with so much force that he almost knocked over a couple who was trying to enter.

“IAN!!” Mickey exclaimed, sliding out from the booth and throwing some bills on the table. “IAN!! Goddammit!”

Mickey left the diner, frantically looking right, then left for any sign of Ian as he threw on his coat and scarf. He finally spotted him on the busy sidewalk, silently thankful that he hadn’t yet put his beanie on so his red hair was easy to spot in the crowd.

Mickey took off running in his direction as fast as his legs would carry him. He finally reached him and grabbed his shoulder roughly to stop him and turn him around to face him.

“Get the fuck off me!” Ian growled, his breath coming in cold bursts, his face red. He wasn’t sure if it was from anger or the cold, but he was pretty certain it was a little of both.

“Ian, what the fuck? What the hell happened back there? Who was that?” Mickey’s questions just tumbled out in quick succession before he could even stop them. Ian glared at Mickey, his mouth set in a stubborn frown. But instead of answering, he just turned on his heel and began walking briskly down the sidewalk again.

Mickey didn’t have a clue what the hell was going on but he’d be damned if he was going to let Ian walk away without finding out.

“Hey!” Mickey barked as he turned Ian around again. “Answer me, goddammit!”

“I don’t have to answer shit!” Ian spat through gritted teeth. “Get the fuck out of my face and leave….me…..alone.”

Ian’s voice was shaky with emotion now, and it hurt Mickey deep down to hear it. This time, though, Ian didn’t move to walk away. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, breathless as anger radiated off of him. The great guy Mickey was laughing uncontrollably with just a few seconds ago was gone, and in his place was a totally different man, standing stoically, chin stubbornly jutted out. 

Mickey was about to tell Ian what an asshole he was being, until he happened to glance up into those beautiful green eyes that were staring off into the distance, and saw tears forming slightly in the corners.

Ian sniffed harshly, willing the tears not to fall, but on his next blink they finally descended, along with Mickey’s heart right into the pit of his stomach.

Mickey reached out to gingerly touch Ian’s arm, speaking softly around the lump that was now lodged in his throat. “Look, Ian, it’s okay. But man…..you gotta give me something to work with here. Talk it out. Tell me what you’re thinking at least,” Mickey encouraged, trying to get him to tell him something. Anything.

“What are you, a fucking psychiatrist now?” Ian snarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Ian finally looked down and met Mickey’s eyes. The anger in his voice contradicted the sheer sadness that Mickey saw in his eyes. Despite the tears that continued to fall slowly down his face and onto his designer winter coat, his hands remained steadfastly in his pockets, as if swiping at the tears would be acknowledging them, giving them much more power than he was willing to relinquish.

All Mickey wanted to do was fix it. His job was to prevent problems from occurring, and fix them when they did. He wasn’t used to being the source of the problem, so he didn’t know what the hell to do. Before he could think through what his plan was, he was reaching up to cup his hand behind Ian’s head and pulling him down into a soft kiss. His lips were a warm contrast to his cold air that swirled around them.

Ian didn’t pull away as the kiss deepened and their tongues touched lightly against each other. Mickey relished in the warmth of Ian’s mouth, bringing his other hand up to cup his face and wipe the tears away that had fallen. Ian brought one arm around Mickey’s waist holding him close to him while keeping his other hand in his pocket. Mickey could feel the uncertainty in the touch, like he wasn’t sure this should be happening but too afraid to stop it.

People walked around them as they continued to kiss standing there on the sidewalk. Mickey bit Ian’s bottom lip lightly and was rewarded with a small moan that reverberated from Ian’s mouth to his. After a few more moments, Mickey finally broke the kiss and they stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like days, but was more than likely only a few seconds.

Mickey was trying to gauge Ian’s reaction since his eyes weren’t giving anything away in that moment. Just when Mickey was about to kick himself for fucking things up yet again, a small smile broke out on Ian’s face and Mickey thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Before Mickey could find the meaning of the smile that always seemed to take his breath away, a familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Ian! Ian!” Fiona called from several feet away on the sidewalk.

Mickey moved to turn around toward her when he felt a firm grip on his arm. “Mickey,” Ian coaxed, pulling his attention back toward him. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but some things just don’t need to be fixed.”

“Ian, I…..”

“I can’t do it, Mick,” Ian interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Ian bent down and placed a tender kiss on Mickey’s cheek before turning around and slowly making his way down the sidewalk. This time, Mickey didn’t follow.

Mickey heard Fiona’s breathless huffs as she finally reached where Mickey was standing. He turned around to face her as she regained her composure.

“Where is Ian going?” Fiona breathed heavily.

“Uh,” Mickey stuttered, not knowing what to say. “He didn’t feel up to talking.”

Fiona put her hands on her hips as she continued to watch him. “Fuck,” she said on a sigh.

“Well, I gotta ask,” Mickey said, bringing his hands up at his sides,” how the hell do you guys know each other?”

Fiona folded her arms over her chest before answering, still gazing at Ian’s retreating form. “I’m Fiona Gallagher. Ian is my brother.”

_________________________________

Holy shit….Fiona was Ian’s sister. Mickey didn’t know why, but he wasn’t expecting that. The way Ian avoided talking about his family like the plague and practically bolted from the room whenever his family was brought up in conversation, he pictured them as total worthless assholes who didn’t give a damn about Ian. Taking in Fiona’s disappointed frown and furrowed brows and the unshed tears in her eyes, that was definitely not the case. Which confused Mickey even more….why was Ian so dead set against having anything to do with his family? The few times Mickey had talked to Fiona, she was very nice to him, always smiling and pleasant. It just didn’t add up.

Did they have a mom and dad? Did Ian have other siblings? So many questions were running through Mickey’s head. Fiona’s voice finally cut through his internal confusion as she asked a question of her own that sent a chill up Mickey’s spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

“So, is Ian your boyfriend?” Fiona asked, hope lacing her tone that she might get some kind of insight into Ian’s life.

“Boyfriend?” Mickey asked, looking for something to do with his hands and finally settling on grabbing his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, effectively avoiding the curious glance he saw out of the corner of his eye. “Hell, no, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really? So how do you know my brother?”

How the fuck was he supposed to answer that question? Their relationship was nothing if not complicated, and the more they tried to simplify it, the more complicated it became. And what’s more, Mickey didn’t know how much he should share with Fiona. Ian obviously wasn’t too keen on her knowing about any facets of his life, and he wanted to respect that.

Mickey pulled a cigarette from the pack and offered her one. She took it as he pulled out his lighter, lighting her smoke then his own, doing anything he could think of to buy himself some time. Fiona’s frustration with him was evident in her stubborn stance, foot tapping on the ground and arms crossed over her chest. Must be a Gallagher thing because he had seen the same from Ian countless times.

He took a long pull from his cigarette, feeling the nicotine calm his frazzled nerves instantly. Finally deciding to go with the bare minimum truth, he answered as he exhaled the smoke out of his mouth.

”I am a bodyguard, and Ian is my client,” Mickey began, waving his cigarette through the air for emphasis. “I started working for him a couple weeks ago.”

“A couple weeks ago? Wait…” Fiona’s face lit up and Mickey could practically see the light bulb turn on over her head. “Is Ian the asshole boss you were talking about?!”

Mickey, suddenly feeling like he had really overstepped his bounds by running his fucking mouth, stomped out his cigarette on the cement below him and stuffed his hands back in his pockets.

“Look, I gotta get going. I need to go find Ian.”

“Wait, please,” Fiona pleaded, placing her hand on Mickey’s arm. “I need to know what’s going on with my brother, Mickey. I’ve tried to contact him many times but he won’t talk to me. What does he do? Why does he need a fucking bodyguard?”

Mickey put his hands up in surrender. “It’s not my place to say, Fiona. I’m sorry.”

Fiona clicked her tongue, clearly frustrated and hurt, then reached in the pocket of her apron and pulled out her order pad and a pen. She scribbled something on the top page as she spoke. “I’m sure it won’t do any good, but will you at least give him this? Please?”

She tore off the page with her name and number on it and handed it to him. “I will,” he nodded. “I better get going. See you later, Fiona.”

“See you, Mickey.”

He turned around and headed down the sidewalk, in search of his elusive redhead.

__________________________________

Mickey searched for Ian on the South Side for about thirty minutes and when he had no luck, he figured Ian probably hopped on the El and high-tailed it back to the North Side, not wanting to be on the South Side for any longer than necessary.

Hell, maybe he went to the game by himself, even though Mickey found that highly unlikely. Mickey sure as hell didn’t give a shit about the game now, and he had a feeling that the only reason Ian even wanted to go was to be able to take him. All he wanted to do was find Ian.

He dialed Ian’s number for what had to be the 50th time in the last thirty minutes, again with the same result: no answer. “Goddammit, Ian! Answer your fucking phone!” Mickey screamed as he punched the end call button with added force. A few people passing by shot glares at him. “What the fuck are you looking at, you old motherfucker?” Mickey sneered pointedly at one man in particular, an older, gray-haired man carrying a briefcase. The man wisely disappeared in the crowd without a word.

Mickey walked briskly to the El station and boarded the next train to the North Side. It seemed like the longest ride he had ever taken on the damn thing, even though he rode it to the same destination almost every day.

When he finally arrived at Ian’s apartment building, he ignored the cheerfulness of the front desk clerk who now knew him by name. The elevator took its fucking time getting to the ground floor. When it finally did, thankfully he was alone inside. He punched the penthouse floor button and waited. After what seemed like hours, he finally reached Ian’s floor, exiting the elevator and making a beeline for Ian’s apartment.

He pounded on the door and stood there, listening for any noise from inside. He didn’t hear anything. He knocked again, even louder this time. “Ian!” Still nothing. Fuck.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached frantically for it, his fingers fumbling with the screen lock as he cussed a blue streak.

_I’m ok. Meet me at the United Center at 6pm. On the east side by the Michael Jordan statue. _

Before Mickey had even finished reading the text, he was back on the elevator, furiously pressing the first floor button.

__________________________________________

About an hour later, Ian stood by The Spirit statue, watching as the throngs of people made their way inside the United Center stadium, searching the crowd for that head of shiny black hair and those piercing blue eyes.

Growing up, Ian and his brothers would always watch the Chicago Bulls games together whenever they had cable and electricity on at the same time, which wasn’t very often. But when they did, it was one of Ian’s favorite childhood memories. Never did any of them dream that they would ever be able to go to actually go to a game, legitimately at least. The only way they would ever have been able to get in was to sneak their way in.

They had snuck into plenty of Sox games. Ian smiled at the memory of his older brother, Lip, helping him through the hole in the outfield fence while he in turn helped their younger brother, Carl. They never did try to sneak into a Bulls game though. It was as if this place was the Holy Grail of sports, too sacred to be vandalized by a group of young miscreants from the South Side.

Seeing Fiona today had fucked Ian up bad, causing all these different memories from his youth to start flitting through his mind. He jumped on the L to escape the South Side and attempt to leave all those memories behind, but they followed him right to the North Side.

He walked around aimlessly for a while, not knowing where to go, what to do. He didn’t want to talk to anybody, he just wanted to be alone and hope he could drive these thoughts away on his own somehow. He even ignored a couple of clients’ phone calls, not in the right frame of mind to handle any sort of business matters.

Mickey’s calls started soon after he walked away from him, and hadn’t stopped since. Ignoring his calls hurt the most. He felt like a total dick, but he just couldn’t face him. He didn’t want to answer a bunch of questions about something he wasn’t ready to talk about. He just wanted to be left alone. He had a lot to sort out in his head that not even Mickey could remedy, no matter how hard Ian knew he wanted to try.

But then a thought occurred to him. Mickey had told Ian several times that he didn’t have to talk about anything he didn’t want to, plus Ian hated to be the one to ruin the plans they’d had. And as understanding and patient as Mickey had been with him, he owed him at least the courtesy of letting him know he was alright and not worrying him any further.

So he had decided to text Mickey and continue their original plan of going to the Bulls game. It might be fun plus it hopefully would distract him from unpleasant thoughts. And seeing Mickey again was an added bonus.

When Mickey had kissed Ian earlier on the sidewalk, to say Ian was surprised was an understatement. He was surprised that he did it of course. He wasn’t expecting that at all so he was a little thrown by it. But what had surprised him most was how natural it felt. Like kissing Mickey was the thing he was born to do.

As if his thoughts conjured him up out of thin air, Ian spotted Mickey several feet away. He could recognize that beautiful face anywhere. Ian immediately felt better and wanted to kick himself for ignoring his calls earlier.

He hadn’t spotted Ian yet if his turning head and darting eyes were any indication. His brow was creased in concentration and mild annoyance. He was so fucking cute, Ian just wanted to run up to him and hug him. But he refrained, instead deciding to hold his hand up and wave it back and forth. Mickey finally spotted him, his shoulders falling and his face relaxing in immediate relief.

“There you are, you ginger fuck,” Mickey greeted with a crooked smile.

“Excuse me,” Ian balked with feigned annoyance, “is that any way to talk to your boss?”

“When said boss is being a total dickwad, yes,” Mickey answered easily, still smiling.

Ian grinned back, and for a second they were oblivious to the thousands of people around them. Just being near Mickey immediately lifted Ian’s mood. He loved the way Mickey made him feel. So much so that he never wanted the feeling to end.

No one else in the world had ever been able to lift Ian’s spirits just by their presence alone. Is this what having a friend felt like? Ian didn’t know of course, since he had never really had any. He had had fuck buddies, acquaintances, but never any friends. But even so, this felt different somehow. This felt like more than just friendship.

But Ian decided not to analyze it. Fuck knows he had done enough thinking for one day. He just wanted to enjoy his time together with Mickey away from work and away from unwanted memories.

“Ay, you okay?” Mickey asked, his brow creased with worry.

Ian took a deep breath and let it out, smiling reassuringly. “Yep, all good. You ready to go in?” Ian nodded toward the entrance.

Mickey put his hand out, indicating for Ian to go first. “Lead the way, boss man.”

Ian rolled his eyes playfully as he turned around to go in, Mickey following close behind.

________________________________

Even though the game was in the second quarter, Mickey still hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of being courtside at a fucking Chicago Bulls game. Mickey had always loved basketball, especially the Bulls growing up, and would watch the games when his dad was either in prison or on a drug run out of town. He would never attempt to watch a game with his dad in the house. His dad was a racist pig asshole, and the one time he caught Mickey watching a game, he proceeded to call the players unspeakable names before beating Mickey’s ass to a pulp.

He never dreamed in a million years he’d be in attendance at an actual game, much less sitting courtside. And it was all thanks to the man sitting beside him with the hot dog in his hand and mustard on the corner of his mouth. To Mickey, he had never looked more beautiful. He was so happy-cheering and yelling when their team made a good play, laughing at Mickey’s corny jokes.

Mickey had felt so shitty about being the one to make Ian so upset. Words can’t even describe how worried he was when Ian hadn’t answered his calls or texts. When he finally did receive that text from Ian, he was so damn happy and relieved. He thought for sure Ian would never want to speak to him again. He wouldn’t have blamed him. But Ian surprised him yet again.

Spending time with Ian was, in the simplest terms, easy. Nothing had ever been easy for Mickey in his life. Not living on the South Side, not having a drug-addicted mother who died when he was young, not living with his homophobic piece of shit father who almost killed him when he found out he got suspended for having sex with another boy in the boys' bathroom. Not having to basically raise his siblings on his own.

But finally, he found one thing that was easy. Not that things were a bed of roses in the beginning, but they had gotten closer over the time they had known each other, and even though they had agreed to be friends only, that’s just not what he felt when he looked at Ian.

Ian made him feel good, made him feel happy for the first time in a long time. He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn’t help how he felt. He knew Ian didn’t feel the same way. It was his idea to just be friends in the first place, for fuck’s sake.

When Mickey kissed Ian earlier that day, he wanted to help him, yes. But he also had selfish reasons. He wanted to kiss Ian again, to feel his lips on his. Ever since Ian had first kissed him, Mickey was ruined. No one had ever given him those kinds of feelings just from a kiss. It was overwhelming but in the best way.

Mickey knew their situation was fucked. Ian was his boss. Mickey was his employee. He had even tried to fuck Ian out of his system, see how that shit turned out for both of them. Mickey had spent his whole young life denying his feelings, and he swore once he was out from under his dad’s thumb, he would never do that again. But Ian was worth it.

He thought about asking to be reassigned so that at least there wasn’t the conflict of interest looming over their heads. But Mickey couldn’t stand the thought of someone else protecting Ian. Not that they wouldn’t do a good job, it’s just that it was HIS job, and no one else’s. He had to personally see to Ian’s safety. Frankly, it was more than a job to him now. Making sure Ian was safe was his life.

“How’s your nachos?” Ian asked, breaking Mickey from his reverie.

Mickey looked down at the half-eaten stack of chips, cheese, chili and jalapenos and nodded. “They’re fucking delicious.”

“They must be. You have chili all over your mouth,” Ian giggled, offering him a napkin.

Mickey wiped his mouth and added, “You’re one to talk, mustard mouth.”

“Oh, shit.” Ian laughed, darting his tongue out to swipe at the offending condiment. Seeing Ian’s long tongue licking the side of his mouth was doing things to Mickey. He tried to turn his attention back to the game, but Ian’s voice pulled him back. “Did I get it all?”

Mickey saw a small drop of mustard still on his face. He grabbed one of Ian’s clean napkins from his lap and wiped his mouth completely clean. He leaned in slightly as their eyes searched each other’s faces. Ian leaned in closer as well, his breath coming quicker, his heart beating faster against Mickey’s hand that was now resting there. They closed the distance between them, but before they could connect, the buzzer signaling half time sounded loudly around the arena. They both jumped apart, startled.

People around them stood up, hurrying off to the concession stands or the bathroom, oblivious to the awkward moment being shared between them.

“So, how are you liking the game so far?” Mickey asked, hoping to bypass the awkward moment unscathed.

“I’m loving it. I’ve always wanted to go to a Bulls game.”

“You’ve never been to one?” Mickey asked around a bite of chips.

“No. I’ve never really had anybody I wanted to go with. And I didn’t want to go alone, so…..” Ian trailed off with a shrug.

That thought made Mickey sad and happy all at the same time. He was sad that Ian had missed out on going to games because he didn’t want to go alone, but it made him happy as hell that Mickey was the one that Ian wanted to go with.

“Well, hey,” Mickey said as he knocked his shoulder into Ian’s playfully, “you got somebody to go with now.”

Mickey winked at him as Ian nodded. “That’s good to know.”

Mickey placed his plate down and stood up to stretch. “You want another beer?”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” Ian pulled out his wallet and handed Mickey some bills. “I got this round.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said as he took the money from him. He didn’t want to take it, but he knew all it would do was cause an argument that he would never win, so he didn’t even try. He put the money in his pants pocket and felt a piece of paper. He pulled it out, and, seeing Fiona’s name and number, quickly deposited it back where it was. He would give it to Ian soon, just not tonight. He didn’t want to ruin the good time they were having or the good mood Ian was in. He would save that for another day.

________________________________________

It was almost the end of the game and the Bulls were up by 14 points. Mickey hadn’t brought up anything about Fiona and Ian was grateful for that. In fact, he hadn’t even thought about any of that shit. He was having too much fun with Mickey. And after the beers he drank, he was feeling no pain.

“Come on, Mickey. We’re winning. You gotta do it,” Ian encouraged as he nudged Mickey’s arm.

“I’m not doing that shit. You bought me the hat which I’m wearing. That’s as far as I go with the fucking team spirit. You’re lucky to even be getting that.”

“But it’s tradition, Mick.”

“The Bulls have won plenty of games without me waving a giant-ass foam finger around in the air,” Mickey groused.

“Fine, I’ll do it, party pooper.” Ian put the finger on his hand and waved it around excitedly, whooping and hollering along with the excited crowd.

Mickey just shook his head and laughed at the dork now standing beside him. This was a side of Ian Mickey never thought he’d see. And he didn’t hate it. In fact, he loved seeing Ian so happy and carefree. He’d go to every single Bulls game if it meant seeing him like this. Well, maybe that was a little bit of a stretch, but not by much.

The buzzer sounded at the end of the game, and the crowd was chanting for the winning home team with Ian chanting right along with them.

“Come on, man, we’ll go catch the L and I’ll make sure you get home okay.”

“I brought my Porsche, Mick,” Ian slurred, making it clear who was driving.

“Alright, come on. I’ll drive you home.”

They made their way slowly through the heavy crowd, Mickey keeping a firm arm around Ian’s waist to steady him.

Ian had his bag of souvenirs in one hand and his other arm was slung over Mickey’s shoulders. Mickey knew instinctively that it was going to be hell getting this drunk fucker to the car.

“Bulls fucking rock, man,” Ian said to a nearby group of obvious Suns fans who looked anything but happy.

“Would you shut the fuck up and keep walking? You’re going to piss off the wrong asshole and I’m going to have to beat them to a bloody pulp.”

“Aww, you’re such a romantic, Mick,” Ian cooed drunkenly as he stumbled a little.

“You are so fucking wasted, man,” Mickey said, stating the obvious.

“Well, if that isn’t the black pot calling the kettle hot.”

Mickey laughed despite himself at the absurdity of Ian’s statement. “Oh, I’m not the one who’s drunk, I promise you. I only had a couple beers.”

“I only had a couple, too, Mick,” Ian replied as he tried to count them off on his fingers.

“Yeah, sure, man. And I’m Michael Jordan.”

“Well, nice to meet you. Come on, Michael. I’ll drive you home.” Ian started leading him toward his Porsche.

“I don’t fucking think so, man. I’ll drive YOU home and take the L back to my place.” After they walked for a couple minutes, Mickey asked, “Do you even know where your fucking car is?” 

“Sure, I do. It’s over there,” Ian pointed drunkenly, stumbling a little as he walked. Mickey had to catch him to keep him from falling flat on his face.

“Yeah, that really helps a whole hell of a lot,” Mickey groused.

Mickey started searching Ian’s pockets for his keys while trying to hold him up and keep him from falling. “A little to the left….yeah, right there. That’s it.”

“Will you shut the fuck up and help me find your keys, man? That’s the only way we’re going to find your car since you’re too damn drunk to know your ass from a hole in the wall.”

“Oh, I thought you were grabbing my dick,” Ian snickered. “I know what a glory hole is, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, you wish, Daddy Warbucks,” Mickey intoned. Ian laughed boisterously. Fuck, he was a silly drunk. But Mickey hated to admit, he was cute as hell.

“Hell yeah, I do,” Ian admitted. That made Mickey pause for a second and look at him. He knew, though, that it was a waste of time to try and make sense of anything the man was saying at the moment. All he wanted right now was to get his lanky, drunk ass in his car.

Mickey averted his eyes and finally found the keys and hit the unlock bottom on the faub. He found the car, opened the passenger door and helped Ian into the car. “In you go, Gallagher.”

“Thank you, Mick,” Ian said as he looked up at him sincerely. But Mickey was sure it was just the alcohol talking.

He closed his door and walked over to the driver’s side and jumped in.

“Thank you, Mick,” Ian said again. His hand came over and rested high on Mickey’s thigh. His breath hitched at the contact, his heart beating fast. He put the key in the ignition and cranked up the car. Man, Ian’s car purred like a damn kitten. Mickey never dreamed he’d be behind the wheel of a Porsche. It was a little overwhelming. Got to go to a Bulls game and drive a Porsche all in the same night. He wished his asshole father could see him now.

He glanced over to Ian one more time before finding a line to get in to exit the stadium. Ian’s face was turned toward him, but his eyes were closed. Mickey breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re really beautiful,” Mickey heard beside him. It was said so softly he had to look over and make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Ian’s eyes were open and he was staring at him.

“Uh, thanks,” Mickey responded, thumbing his nose. He hated compliments and didn’t know how to react to them. It wasn’t like he got them very often anyway. “If you want to talk beautiful, you should look in a fucking mirror, man.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Ian said wistfully.

“Bullshit,” Mickey scoffed.

“No, seriously.” Ian sat up straighter and turned a little toward Mickey, leaning his head on the headrest. “No one’s ever said that to me before. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“Hell, I hadn’t noticed that,” Mickey said sarcastically.

Ian laughed softly. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me not want to be such a son of a bitch.”

“Well, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Mickey teased, throwing his words back to him.

“Kiss my ass, Mick.” There was that nickname again. A warmth swept over Mickey at the sound of it.

“Hey, man, I’m just pulling your chain.” The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Ian’s feelings.

“I know. I’m not that sensitive.” Ian turned and looked out his window. “Asshole.”

They both laughed.

A few minutes later, they were in Ian’s parking garage and Mickey was helping him out of the car. Ian put his arm around him and let Mickey lead him to the apartment. He only stumbled a couple times which Mickey considered a damn miracle.

Once they were inside the apartment, Mickey took off his jacket and threw it on the couch. He led him to his bedroom and sat him on the side of the bed. He bent down and removed his shoes and socks before pulling the covers back and gently helping him into the bed.

“Wait, I need to take off my pants and shirt,” Ian said groggily.

“I’m not taking your shirt and pants off, Ian,” Mickey stated firmly.

“I can do it,” Ian assured. That wasn’t really the problem. Mickey could do it, but he didn’t trust himself to see Ian almost naked and not take advantage of the situation.

As Ian began to strip his clothes off, Mickey just kept reminding himself that Ian was drunk and it would be completely wrong.

Ian was half standing, shirt already discarded, trying to take his pants off, but one leg got caught on his foot and he stumbled forward, almost falling until Mickey caught him around his waist. He could literally feel the muscles of his abs constricting. Holy hell.

“Come on, man, let’s get you into bed,” Mickey whispered against his neck. He missed the way Ian’s eyes closed, relishing in the feel of Mickey’s breath on his skin.

Ian stepped backward and plopped back down onto the bed and laid down, automatically snuggling up with his pillow. He looked almost angelic, a small smile spreading over his face. He really was fucking beautiful.

Mickey pulled the covers over him up to his shoulders, squeezing gently before turning to go. He had almost made it to the bedroom door when he heard a small, “Mick?”

He turned to see Ian’s upper body facing toward him and his eyes searching Mickey’s face. “Yeah?”

“Would you stay with me?”

Mickey couldn’t help the shocked look on his face, his eyebrows shooting up and his head shaking back and forth. “Really? I don’t know if that’s a good idea…..”

“Please?” Ian asked with a hopeful lilt to his voice.

Mickey moved slowly into the room, regretting his decision with each step, but knowing he couldn’t deny the man when he looked at him like that. “Okay, just for a little while though,” he said as he removed his jacket and shoes. Ian lifted the covers for Mickey to join him and he had to avert his eyes when he got a glance of Ian’s black boxer briefs.

He laid down and turned toward Ian, still in his shirt, pants and socks. There was no way he was taking off any more clothes. It was hard enough being next to Ian knowing he was wearing next to nothing.

“Thank you, Mick,” Ian whispered softly in the dark.

“For what?”

“Just for being you.”

“How fucking drunk are you? Jesus.”

Ian laughed softly. “You’re so funny, Mick.”

“I like when you call me that,” Mickey admitted with a yawn, surprising himself. He was a little relieved that Ian couldn’t see the obvious blush that crept up on his cheeks. 

“Really?” Ian reached over and absentmindedly started scratching circles on Mickey’s forearm. “That’s good to know, Mick.”

Mickey smiled, but it was futile in the darkness of the room. He could’ve sworn he saw Ian smile back though.

“I’ll stay just for a few minutes, okay?” Mickey whispered as his eyes got heavy. “Until you don’t need me anymore.”

“Good night, Mick,” Ian whispered on a breathy sigh. 

“Good night, Ian.”

Within minutes, they were both asleep. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey gets some disturbing news.

Mickey stretched his body out lazily, sighing as his arms reached way above his head. His hand knocked into the headboard, causing him to look up at the fancy carving in the dark cherry wood. He knew then that he wasn’t in his own bed. It was then that he noticed that the bed was way too damn comfortable and he had slept way too damn good.

Turning his head, he saw the back of a head of red hair and it finally dawned on him what had happened. After they had made it back to Ian’s apartment, Ian had asked him to stay. He couldn’t say no, but had only planned to stay there for a few minutes, but instead stayed the whole night. A whole night of restful, uninterrupted sleep. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

He knew it was because of the man lying next to him. Ian had a calming effect on him, made him more comfortable than he’d ever felt before. It was scary as hell for him to let down his guard like that, but Ian made it not so scary.

He watched as Ian’s shoulder rose and fell with each slow exhale, and even though he was turned away from him and they were in a king sized bed with about a mile of space between them, he could hear a light snore escape each time. Something that would normally annoy the shit out of him, he found so disgustingly adorable when Ian did it. He knew he was so screwed.

He went to reach out with his hand to rub Ian’s shoulder when his phone started going off on the night stand beside him.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he reached over to quickly to turn it off and not wake Ian. He picked it up and looked at the screen through bleary eyes. It was a text from Iggy. His brother never texts him, so he knew it wasn’t good.

_Mandy’s at Cook County ER. It’s not good, bro. Hurry up and get your ass up here. _

A chill ran up Mickey’s spine as he jumped up and began retrieving his shit from the table, thankful for several reasons that he still had on all his clothes. Once he had everything he had come with, he barreled out of room and out of the apartment.

He dialed Iggy’s number while waiting for the slow ass elevator to make it to the first floor.

“Bro, where the hell are you?” Iggy answered in a clipped tone.

“I’m on my way, dickhead. What’s going on with Mandy?”

“I don’t know, dude. I came home and found her unconscious on the bathroom floor. Called the ambulance and they brought her here. She’s still unconscious and the fucking doctors won’t tell me anything.” Iggy’s voice cracked and Mickey could hear that he was on the brink of tears. His heart did a nose dive straight to his stomach.

“Fuck!” Mickey yelled, startling a couple people on the sidewalk as he ran toward the L. “Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me if you hear anything. You hear me, Ig?” There was silence on the other end that seemed to drag on forever. “Ig!”

“I hear you, Mick.” He could hear Iggy openly sobbing through the phone now. Fuck. “What if she doesn’t…..what if….”

“Stop, Iggy. She’s going to be fine, alright? Just stay there with her until I get there and get some fucking answers.”

“Okay, I will,” Iggy agreed. “Please hurry.”

Mickey hung up the phone and stared out the window of the L, almost to the point of tears himself. His fucking sister was lying unconscious on the bathroom floor the whole while he was out on what could only be called a date with his goddamn boss.

If anything happened to her……no, he couldn’t even think it. Because he knew he would have no one to blame but himself. Iggy had been at work. Mickey should have had his ass at home with Mandy, but instead he was falling all over a man he didn’t have any right to. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Mandy had to be okay, she just had to. He and Iggy couldn’t make it without her. She was the glue of their family. It may have seemed like Mickey was the one who kept the family going, but no….it was Mandy. She stayed on top of things and took care of them in her own way.

He knew how bad it killed her not to be able to do all the things she used to do since she got sick. They have had to pick up the slack around the house with various things. Not that they minded, but she had expressed how much guilt she felt about it to Mickey on more than one occasion. Mickey tried to reassure her, but she was a Milkovich, which meant she was stubborn as hell.

The L train seemed to be going as slow as snail shit, and Mickey was getting more anxious with every passing second. His knee was bouncing nervously as he watched out the window at all the people just walking around, going about their lives as if Mickey’s wasn’t on the verge of falling apart.

He blinked a couple times and the tears that had welled up finally spilled over and he swiped at them with the sleeve of his coat. She was going to be fine, he kept telling himself over and over. He just hoped and prayed he wasn’t lying to himself, or to Iggy.

__________________

As Mickey ran full speed into the entrance of Cook County ER, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Iggy.

“Yeah,” Mickey said in a hasty greeting.

“They’ve moved Mandy up to the Cancer Unit, Room 382,” Iggy said.

“What? Why? What did the doctor say?” Mickey spit out, anxious to get some damn answers. “Is she still unconscious?”

“Yeah, she is. The doctor said she’ll be back in a few minutes to talk to us. Where are you?”

“I’m here. I’m on my way up.”

Mickey hung up without another word and ran toward the bank of elevators he found by following the signs, totally ignoring the lady at the reception desk who kept calling after him.

Once on the third floor, he followed more signs until he finally found Mandy’s room. He stopped abruptly from his frantic running, and gingerly opened the door. The first thing he saw was Mandy’s small frame almost being swallowed up by the hospital bed. All three picc line ports had tubes coming out of them and she had an oxygen mask on her face.

Mickey walked up beside her bed and looked down into her pale, thin face. She still had on her skull and crossbones skull cap on. He placed his hand on her head and rubbed gently before bending down and kissing her forehead. Her skin was ice cold.

“I made sure to bring her cap and put it on her,” Iggy stated from the chair in the corner. “She would kick both our fucking asses if we forgot that.”

Mickey hadn’t even noticed his brother when he walked in. He looked up from Mandy and smiled weakly at Iggy. “Yeah, she definitely would.” Mickey walked over to where he was sitting. He was fidgeting with his phone, probably playing poker or some stupid shit. “Have they told you anything yet?”

Iggy put his phone back in his pocket before answering. “No, I told the doctor to wait on you. You understand this shit a hell of a lot better than I do.”

Mickey swallowed around the lump in his throat. That was the nicest thing Iggy had ever said to him. He didn’t understand any of this any better than his brother did really. Iggy was the one who always made sure she made it to her appointments. He had been there for her a hell of a lot more than Mickey had. They didn’t have a lot, but they had each other. Their circle was small, but it was fierce. Mickey would take a bullet for either one of his siblings.

“Well, if they don’t hurry the fuck up, we’re going to have to go Milkovich on their asses.” Mickey took a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. He lit it up and took a long drag to calm his nerves.

“You can’t smoke that in here,” Iggy reprimanded.

“The fuck I can’t, says who?”

“Mr. Milkovich, you need to put the cigarette out, please,” a brown-haired woman with a white lab coat on over a dress wearing six inch heels requested as she walked in.

“You the Doc?” Mickey asked as he blew smoke out of his nose.

“That’s right, I’m Dr. Shumaker.”

“Well, how about you give us some answers, Doc. Then I’ll put out my cigarette. Sound good?” He brought the cigarette to his lips to take another hit. The doctor gave him a death glare, but didn’t argue.

“And you are?” she asked with a look of contempt on her face.

“I’m Mickey Milkovich, Mandy’s brother. And I want some answers. So spill.” Mickey was done playing games with this bitch.

The two people who came in with the doctor were shuffling nervously from foot to foot, clearly not comfortable with the tension in the room. I guess they were her associates or some shit because they also had lab coats on. He didn’t really give a shit who they were. He just wanted to know about his sister.

Trying to keep the peace, the doctor offered, “Would you care to sit down, Mr. Milkovich?” She gestured toward the empty chair beside Iggy.

“No, I don’t want to sit down!” Mickey snapped, his booming voice bouncing around the quiet room. “I want to know why my sister’s lying there and won’t fucking wake up!”

The doctor sighed and put her hands up in surrender. That’s when Mickey noticed some kind of tablet in her hand. She clicked on it with her long ass red fingernails as she spoke.

“Well, as you know, Mandy has Acute Myeloid Leukemia. The good news is that it doesn’t seem to have spread to any other vital organs.”

“Okay, so what’s the bad news? Why won’t she wake up?” Mickey asked impatiently, trying to control the tremble in his voice. Iggy stood in solidarity with his brother.

“Her red blood cells and platelets got dangerously low, which caused her to pass out. We are giving her blood transfusions and platelets now and if that works, she should wake up in a few hours. “

“If? What do you mean ‘if that works’?” Iggy asked beside Mickey.

The doctor finally stopped poking on her tablet and turned to face the brothers. “I’m afraid she’s no longer responding to treatment. The chemo we have been giving her for the past several months is no longer effective.”

Mickey and Iggy just looked at each other, dumbfounded. “What does that mean?” Mickey asked, turning his worried eyes back toward the doctor.

“The way I see it there are only two options. One, she gets put into home hospice care, to help her be as comfortable as she can during her remaining days.”

“No, no, no, fuck no,” Mickey spat. “That’s not happening.”

“What does that mean, Mick?” Iggy asked, confused.

“That’s for people who go home to die. My sister isn’t fucking dying, you hear me, sawbones?” He pointed his cigarette-clad fingers at the doctor.

Iggy’s eyes went wide at Mickey’s words. “So what’s the other option, Doc? You said there were two.”

Dr. Shumaker folded her arms over her chest, placing the tablet under her right arm. “The other option is a new clinical trial drug called Gemtuzumab ozogamicin.” She took out a notepad and pen and wrote something down, tore it off, and handed it to them. Mickey assumed it was the name of the drug, even though he had no idea how to spell that shit. “It is FDA-approved and research has shown that AML patients have responded well to it.”

“So, what’s the fucking problem?” Mickey asked incredulously. “I mean, what the hell are you waiting on? Give her that shit!”

“It’s not that simple, Mr. Milkovich,” the doctor responded, putting her hand up to stop Mickey’s tirade. He wanted nothing more than to put his cigarette butt right in the middle of her palm and stub it out. Fucking doctors.

“Why not?” Iggy asked. “If it will help her, why aren’t you doing it?”

“This drug is very new, and the FDA is not done testing for the generic brand. And I’ve already checked, and this drug is not covered under your insurance, Mr. Milkovich.”

“Well, how much does it cost?” Iggy inquired.

“I don’t give a shit how much it costs. If she needs it, she’s going to get it,” Mickey promised. There was no way in hell he was going to let his sister go without a drug that could help her, no matter what he had to do. That was until the doctor spoke her next words.

“It’s four thousand dollars for a 30 day supply.” Both Mickey and Iggy’s face fell dejectedly.

“Holy fuck.” Mickey suddenly felt the need to sit down. He sat in one of the chairs behind him. Iggy followed suit a couple seconds later.

“Four thousand fucking dollars?” Iggy shrieked. “A month?? There’s no way we can come up with that kind of scratch.”

Mickey’s mind was working overtime, trying to come up with a solution. There had to be some way they could work around it. “Is there financing we could do?” He didn’t know why he asked that. They had no fucking credit between the three of them. “Will they let us make payments?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Milkovich. All drugs have to be paid for up front. I will check to with the cancer concierge to see if there are any other options. I’m very sorry.”

And with that, Dr. Shumaker and her cronies walked out of the room.

“That’s it? I’m fucking sorry? What kind of tomfuckery bullshit is this?” Mickey jumped up and began pacing back and forth across the room. “There’s no way I can afford that much on my salary.”

“What the fuck are we going to do, Mickey?”

Mickey puffed on his cigarette, but had stopped pacing and was now standing at the foot of Mandy’s bed looking at her. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure out something.”

“How? We don’t have that kind of money.”

“You don’t think I know that, dickhead? I’ll figure out a way for us to get it.”

Iggy stood up and walked over to his brother. “Hold on, Mick.” He put his hand on Mickey’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Iggy continued, undeterred. “Don’t go doing anything illegal, man. You’re better than that shit now.”

“Would you shut the fuck up, Ig? I’m not going to do anything illegal. I’m not that stupid. Jesus.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Iggy asked, putting his hand on his hip.

“I don’t know! Would you let me fucking think?”

Finally, Iggy walked away and sat back down. Mickey was lost his thoughts, trying to come up with a plan. Iggy was right, doing illegal shit was part of his past and not who he was anymore. It wasn’t who any of them were. But if it meant he could provide the meds his sister needed……Mickey shook his head, trying to rid those thoughts from creeping in.

He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do, but he knew one thing for sure, he wasn’t going to let Mandy down. He placed his hand on Mandy’s blanket-covered foot and rubbed soothingly.

“Don’t worry, Mandy,” Mickey whispered, “I’m going to take care of you no matter what it takes.” He knew without a doubt that at that moment, he wasn’t lying.

__________________________________

Ian’s eyes fluttered open as his hand reached over to the other side of the bed and was met with only cold sheets. He sat up in bed, glancing over to the night stand where he saw only a lamp. Mickey’s cell phone and keys were gone. Ian rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over to the side of the bed. He checked his cell phone but there were no missed calls or texts from Mickey. Only work shit.

Ian was admittedly pretty drunk last night, but he remembered everything that happened. The fun time they had at the basketball game, Mickey driving him home. And the best part about last night-Mickey lying down with him in his bed. There wasn’t anything sexual about it, which usually was all Ian wanted from anyone in his bed.

All he knew in that moment last night when he asked Mickey to stay was that he just wanted to be with him, to lay with him. He felt better and safer whenever Mickey was around and he wasn’t ready for that feeling to end. He was a little shocked but also elated that Mickey had agreed to it. He was also a little scared of how right it felt having Mickey in his bed lying close to him. He had the most peaceful night of sleep he could remember having in a long time.

He wasn’t surprised that Mickey had already left, but now, looking at his phone, he was a little disappointed that there was no call or text from him. He decided to shoot him a text.

_Thanks for staying with me last night. _

He stared at his phone for a few moments, his anxiety eating away at him as he waited for a reply. Right then his phone buzzed and his heart jumped into his throat. He swiped to open the screen, but it was only an email from work. Fuck.

He threw his phone down on the bed and stood up, padding across the floor to the bathroom, removing his underwear as he went. He brushed his teeth, showered and shaved, all the while wondering if Mickey had text him back yet.

God, he was fucking pitiful. Ian Gallagher didn’t wait around for goddamn texts. But ever since Mickey waltzed into his life with his hot as fuck knuckle tattoos and undeniably sexy swagger, all of Ian’s preconceived notions of how his life should be lived had all but been forgotten. Mickey somehow managed to melt the frozen barricade that had encased Ian’s heart for so long. He wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the way, Ian Gallagher had fallen for Mickey Milkovich.

He knew it was a tremendously bad idea, but he had to tell Mickey how he felt. If he didn’t, it was going to eat him alive. Even if Mickey shot him down and told him he was the stupidest motherfucker that ever lived, at least he would know where he stood and have his feelings out in the open. Now he just had to figure out when he was going to do it.

He was walking back to the bedroom to get dressed when he heard his phone buzz again. He picked up his pace, his heart beating a little faster. Another fucking email.

He put his phone down long enough to slip on some sweats and a tank top before grabbing it again and putting it in his pocket as he made his way to the kitchen for something to eat. Ian glanced at the kitchen clock and saw that it was 11:13am. No wonder he was fucking starving. His stomach growled then, reminding him of that fact.

He got out some bread and some lunch meat to make a sandwich. Once it was made, he walked to the living room and sat down on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and placing his plate in his lap. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Still nothing. He put it down on the couch cushion next to him, glancing at it every couple minutes, willing Mickey’s name to pop up on the screen.

After he finished eating, he picked his phone up and started scrolling through news stories. After doing that for a few minutes, he finally decided to give Mickey a call. Maybe his text hadn’t gone through or something. He found Mickey’s name and clicked on it, bringing the phone to his ear. It rang several times, then went to voicemail.

_“Hey Mick, it’s Ian. Just checking in with you. Give me a call back when you get a chance.” _

There, that sounded casual, right? He didn’t sound like a desperate bitch, did he? Satisfied that he didn’t, he retrieved the remote control from the coffee table and turned on the TV. It was on ESPN Classics, a Bulls game, which only made Ian think of Mickey more and smile at the memory of their date the night before. He had never realized how fun basketball games were and was so glad he went. But he was pretty sure that could all be attributed to the man that sat beside him court side. Seeing Mickey happy and carefree was so exhilarating, even more so than the game itself. He wanted more days like that, wanted more dates with Mickey. He just wanted more.

After a couple hours and one basketball game later, there was still no word from Mickey. Ian was starting to get worried. It wasn’t like Mickey to not at least text him. They talked in some capacity every day and not hearing from him at all was driving Ian crazy. God, what if he was hurt? His skin prickled as he imagined the possibilities in his head. What if he had gotten mugged, beaten, and left for dead? Holy fuck. No, he couldn’t think about that. Maybe he’s just with his family and got distracted. Hell, it wasn’t like they were boyfriends or anything. Mickey didn’t owe him anything. Still, he was really getting worried about him.

__________________________________

Five hours later, Ian’s feet were pounding relentlessly on the treadmill, his arms pumping and his anger escalating. Mickey still hadn’t returned any of his countless texts or calls, and Ian was past the point of being worried. Now he was just fucking pissed. The angrier he got, the faster he ran. Every time Mickey flashed across his mind, he would increase his speed until he was running wide open, feeling as if he was about to fly off the machine but not giving a fuck.

Mickey was obviously avoiding him because he regretted last night, even though they didn’t even really do anything. He probably woke up and after realizing where he was, freaked the fuck out and ran. He was angry at Mickey for not at least talking to him about how he felt, but he was even more angry at himself for thinking last night meant something more than it actually did. He made it fucking weird by asking Mickey to stay with him, and now Mickey didn’t want to talk to him.

Ian was tired of fucking up where Mickey was concerned. In his work, he was confident, cocky, and always sure of himself and his abilities. With Mickey, he constantly felt like he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. And in all reality, he didn’t. He had never cared about anybody the way he did about Mickey. He had never cared about what anyone else thought, but Mickey’s opinion meant everything to him.

He had never just actually slept with a guy, and never once had the desire to until Mickey. He just wanted to get his rocks off then send the guy packing. He had never felt disappointment at waking up alone before. This was all new territory for him. Being vulnerable was not something Ian did very well, but Mickey had made him open up a part of himself that he had always kept firmly locked up. And it had felt good. Really fucking good. Until he fucked it up.

Ian slowed down the treadmill to do his cool down, wiping his sweat-drenched face with a towel, contemplating his situation further. What did he really do wrong though? So he asked Mickey to stay with him. It wasn’t like he told him he wanted to fuck his brains out. He did of course….Mickey was hot and he was horny as hell.

Mickey had seemed just as into Ian as he was into him. He was Mickey’s boss, so maybe that’s what scared him off. The hell of it was, if Mickey would just answer one fucking call or text, they could talk this shit out and Ian could get to the bottom of what was bothering him. Ian had tried. He didn’t know what else he could do.

Ian jumped off the treadmill and headed into the bathroom, stripping naked and throwing his towel and clothes in the hamper. He turned the water as hot as it would go, and let it wash away the sweat along with the doubt he felt. If Mickey didn’t want to talk to him, that was fine. He was done worrying about him and how he was feeling. Mickey obviously didn’t give a shit about him. Ian lathered his hands up and began washing his hair, ignoring the dull ache that settled in his chest.

Once he was out of the shower, he wrapped his towel around his waist and walked back out into the bedroom. The sky through his floor to ceiling window caught his eye, the combination of pinks and golds casting a beautiful blanket over the city. Ian stepped over to get a closer look, noticing the stars twinkling over the expanse of the sky. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever noticed the stars.

He hated himself for it, but his mind wandered back to Mickey. As he looked out over the city, he wondered where he was, what he was doing. His anger waned just enough for the worry to creep back into his mind.

He sighed and finally closed his black out curtains, slipped on his boxers and fell into the bed, hoping to just go to sleep and forget everything. But he knew it wasn’t going to happen….he was too worked up. And just like he figured, it was several hours before he finally drifted off to sleep from pure exhaustion.

____________________________

“Mickey?” Mandy croaked weakly beside him. Mickey was sitting in a chair beside her bed, his head lying on his folded arms next to her. He had dozed off for about ten minutes, but his sister’s voice had startled him awake.

“Hey,” he whispered as he wiped the drool from his chin. “How are you feeling?” He placed her ice cold hand in his and took in the grimace on her pale face.

“I’ve been better.” Mandy replied, pulling the blankets further up her body. “I feel like I have the fucking flu.”

Mickey glanced across the room to see Iggy asleep and snoring in the other chair. He took his phone out to check the time but it was dead. Fuck. The clock on the wall showed it was a little after 6pm. 

“What happened?” he heard Mandy ask. He was dreading this conversation, but he knew she deserved to know the truth. Mickey’s heart sank at the confused look on her face.

“You passed out in the bathroom at home. Iggy called the ambulance and they brought you here. The doctor said your red blood cell count and platelets were really low, so they’ve been giving you blood transfusions.”

Mickey cocked his eyebrow, readying himself for more questions he knew were coming.

“That doesn’t make any sense. They’re giving me chemo. I go get poked and prodded every damn week for christ’s sake.”

Mickey looked nervously toward the door, hoping like hell the doctor would walk in right at that moment and save him from having to tell his sister that the chemo wasn’t working anymore. He was a tough son of a bitch, but he just couldn’t do that. He couldn’t look his sister in the face and tell her the prognosis. It would be better coming from the doc anyway.

“Let me go get the doctor for you. She can explain it better than I can.” Mickey stood up and walked to the door, ignoring his sister’s protests.

“Mickey, tell me what the fuck’s going on. Mickey!”

Each time she yelled his name was like a punch to the gut. She was still yelling when he reached the nurses desk right outside the room and asked for Dr. Shumaker.

“She’s making her rounds now, she’ll be with you shortly,” the preoccupied nurse answered without even looking up from her computer screen.

“Well, tell her to hurry the fuck up!” Mickey groused.

He turned to go back into Mandy’s room and missed the way the nurse rolled her eyes and continued typing on her keyboard.

When he walked back in, Iggy was sitting beside her on the bed, lightly stroking her arm. “Iggy, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on right now, I swear….”

“The doctor is on her way,” Mickey announced, cutting her off. “She’s making her rounds.”

“Why can’t one of you tell me? Huh? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

Mandy’s voice broke on a sob at the end, and it just about broke Mickey. He was so fucking angry that this was happening to his sister. He’d give anything to take her place. And he hated the fact that he couldn’t fix this. He would figure out some way to get the money for the meds, but he wanted to do more than that. He wanted to fix this shit and make Mandy well again. It killed him that he couldn’t.

“Look, Mandy,” Iggy began, “the doctor said that the chemo….”

“Shut the fuck up, Iggy!” Mickey exclaimed. “Let the doctor explain it to her. Goddammit, Ig.”

“She deserves to know!” Iggy countered. 

Mickey began pacing nervously in the small space beside her bed. “She will when the doc gets here. Just wait a damn minute.”

“Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?” Mandy yelled.

Tempers flared and before long all three Milkoviches were yelling simultaneously at each other. So much so that they didn’t even hear the doctor walk in until she whistled loudly and got their attention.

“Sorry, doc,” they all murmured.

Before she could approach Mandy, Mickey pulled her to the side and whispered, “Don’t mention about the hospice care, okay? That is not an option. And don’t tell her about my insurance. Just tell her about the new meds. You hear me?”

Mickey fixed her with a stubborn glare but she returned one of her own as she nodded toward the door and started walking toward it, indicating for Mickey to follow her. They stepped out into the hall and the doctor turned on Mickey, her arms folded across her chest, her voice a harsh whisper. “Mr. Milkovich, it is not my usual practice to withhold pertinent information from my patients. This is potentially life-saving treatment and the sooner we all get on the same page, the better. You have until she is released to make arrangements for getting the new meds. If you don’t, I will have no choice but to inform her of her options.”

“I know, I know. Fuck,” Mickey huffed in frustration. “I’ll figure something out.”

The doctor nodded and walked back into Mandy’s room, pulling the tablet out of her lab coat pocket and clicking some buttons. “So, Mandy, how are you feeling?” She replaced the tablet back in her pocket and put her stethoscope in her ears and began listening to Mandy’s chest.

“I feel like shit, doc. Now tell me what the hell is going on.”

The doctor finished listening to her chest, then began pressing on her stomach as she spoke. “Your red blood cell and platelet counts were dangerously low. That’s why you passed out.”

“And?” Mandy asked, folding her arms over her chest as the doctor finished examining her.

The doctor stood up straight and looked at Mandy pointedly. Mandy stared back at her with raised eyebrows, waiting. “The chemo treatment regime we administered to you is no longer effective.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mandy asked.

“It means,” the doctor explained, drawing out her words, “that we will have to try something else.” She walked to the hand sanitizer station on the wall and filled her hand with the foam and rubbed it between her hands while three sets of eyes followed her around the room. “As I explained to your brothers earlier, there is a new drug still in clinical trials that has been shown to be highly effective with AML.”

“Okay, so when can we start that?” Mandy asked.

The doctor glanced quickly at Mickey like she was waiting on him to answer.

As much as he hated to lie to Mandy, he wasn’t about to tell her about the cost of the meds. He still hadn’t figured out a way around that, but he would. He just didn’t know how yet.

“I’ve got to call my insurance to get the meds, Mandy. I’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning. Iggy and I are going to stay here overnight. The doc said you could go home in a couple days as long as your counts keep improving. Iggy’s off work until Monday night and I’m going to call and arrange for a replacement for me at work.”

The mention of work made Mickey think about Ian and how much he missed him. He hadn’t talked to him all day with everything else going on. He still felt guilty about being with Ian when Mandy needed him, but he couldn’t deny how much he missed talking to him. But he couldn’t think about that now. His main priority was his sister.

Mandy’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “You aren’t missing work on account of me, Mick,” Mandy said, shaking her head. “You need to go. Especially now. You can’t risk getting in trouble and fucking up your cushy job.”

“I’m not going to get in trouble, Mandy. I think Malloy will understand. He’s not a complete asshole. If he doesn’t, I’ll tell him to go fuck himself.” 

“Mandy, I’ll be back later to check on you,” Dr. Shumaker cut in as she turned to go, clearly in a hurry to leave before the Milkovich sibling war started again. “You all have a good night.” With a quick wave, she was gone.

“No, you’re going to work,” Mandy argued. “What are you going to do here, huh? Watch me sleep? Besides, Iggy will be here until tomorrow night anyway.”

Iggy nodded. “I got you, sis. Bro, you can go to work. I got this.”

“In fact,” Mandy added, “why don’t you head on home and get you some sleep? I don’t need both you dipshits here watching over me.”

He wanted to stay and be with Mandy, but he had to admit that going home and getting some sleep sounded too damn good. And she was right, he did need to go to work. Even though he was pissed about his insurance not covering her meds, he didn’t need to do anything to fuck that up.

“You sure, Mandy? I don’t mind staying.”

“Would you go and get the fuck out of here? We’ll be fine.” She looked over at Iggy and patted his hand. “Won’t we, Iggy?”

“Of course we will,” Iggy assured.

“And you wouldn’t want to upset your other boss, now would you?” Mandy winked.

“Wait….what?” Iggy asked, clearly confused.

“Nothing,” Mickey said, fixing his sister with a death glare. She just smiled sweetly at him. She really was a fucking pest sometimes. But he loved the fuck out of her.

“Okay, well, I’m going to head out. Iggy,” he said, pointing straight at his brother, “you call me if anything happens. Got it?”

“I got it,” Iggy replied. He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“And you,” he pointed at Mandy, “call me if you need anything, okay?” He bent down, placing his hand on the top of her head and kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Anything, okay? I mean it.”

“I will, brother,” she promised, smiling weakly at him and sighing. She sounded so tired.

“I’ll catch you assholes later,” Mickey teased with a smile. That was about as affectionate as it got for a Milkovich.

“Bye, bitch,” Mandy said with a weak wave.

“Later, bro,” Iggy said as he stood up from Mandy’s bed to settle in his chair for the night.

With a final wave, Mickey was headed out the door.

About 45 minutes later, he was walking in the door of the Milkovich house. Automatically, he noticed that it was too damn quiet. Mandy and Iggy annoyed the fuck out of him most of the time, but what he wouldn’t give to hear their loud, obnoxious voices carry through the empty house.

He hung his coat up on the rack and walked to his bedroom and plugged up his phone to charge and placed it on the night stand. He got undressed and went to take a hot shower.

Once he was done, he walked back to his room and slipped on a pair of boxer briefs. He turned his phone on since it finally had a little bit of charge. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer, chugging most of it before he even made it back to the bedroom. Once he was there, he put his bottle on the night stand and sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He could barely keep them open at this point.

He finally laid down, and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. As he drifted off, he heard his phone buzzing with several notifications. He reached out, his eyes still closed, and turned his phone sideways so he could check it. There was no calls or text from Iggy, thank fuck, but there were a shit ton of calls and texts from Ian.

As tired as he was, the feeling of complete and utter failure overtook him. Not only had he failed in his job as a brother, he had failed at being a friend to Ian. He just couldn’t do anything fucking right. Not ready to face him, Mickey sent a simple text.

_I'm ok_

He slammed his phone back down on the night stand and settled back down on the bed. His body felt like lead and his brain felt like mush. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to, so he just tucked his pillow up under him and let sleep take him under.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a roller coaster of emotions....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter out! Hopefully they won't take this long from now on. Thank you to everybody who has hung in there with me:)

The next morning, Ian stared down at his phone as he sat on the side of the bed, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his head pounded in between his temples. _I’m ok. _Those two short words from Mickey that he had read over and over about thirty times since he woke up five minutes ago. When he first woke up and saw the text, his first reaction was relief that he had finally heard from the man. But the underlying anger that he still felt from the night before bubbled up to the surface and overtook any other emotion he may have been feeling.

“I’m ok?” Ian said aloud. “What the fuck does that mean?” he muttered to no one as he dragged himself up and went straight for the medicine cabinet in his bathroom to take a couple of aspirin.

He silently mumbled to himself all through his morning routine, the anger emanating off of him. The more he thought about Mickey’s text, the angrier he got. He was mad at himself for spending so much time last night worrying about someone who obviously didn’t give two shits about him. He felt foolish for caring at all.

There was a knock on his door just as he was checking his watch and berating himself for doing so. 7:02AM.

He opened the door to find Mickey standing there with bags under his eyes, his hair in disarray. Not his usual crisp, clean self, that was for damn sure. Ian immediately swallowed down the worry that settled in his throat at the sight.

“Good morning, Ian,” Mickey said weakly, his eyes not reaching his.

“You’re late,” Ian reprimanded sternly. “You’re supposed to be here at 7:00AM, Mickey.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Mickey apologized, his face falling in obvious disappointment. 

Answering Mickey’s apology with a scoff, Ian let his anger and hurt spur him on. “You look like shit,” Ian remarked as he shrugged on his suit jacket and winter coat. “Must have been a wild night last night, huh?”

“Not exactly,” Mickey sighed, still standing stoically in the doorway, obviously ascertaining from Ian’s mood that he was not going to be invited in.

“Well, whatever it was was obviously more important than answering any of my calls or texts.”

Ian hadn’t planned on getting into all this so soon, but he’d never been one to hide his feelings all that well. He was hurt and pissed, and he just had to get it out before it ate him alive.

Ian glanced in Mickey’s direction as he hurriedly snatched his briefcase from the kitchen bar top. He was chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the floor. Ian almost didn’t hear him when he spoke, the red hot rage still coursing wildly through his veins.

“Look, Ian, I….”

“I need to get to the office,” Ian said while glancing at his watch, cutting Mickey off from whatever he was going to say. “I have a very important meeting in 45 minutes that I cannot be late for. So if you don’t mind, can we get a move on?”

Mickey nodded curtly but didn’t argue. “Sure thing, boss.”

___________________

Mickey sat lost in his thoughts during the drive in to Ian’s work. What usually seemed like such a short time because they spent the whole commute talking and laughing, sometimes making fun of other drivers, now seemed like the longest drive ever. The awkward silence hung between them, like a thick fog that neither of them could see through. One number kept burning itself into Mickey’s brain over and over. 24. That’s the total number of missed calls and texts he had from Ian this morning when he woke up from a miserable night of restless sleep.

On top of feeling like a complete failure as a brother, now he felt like a major fucking asshole for the lame ass text he sent. He finally listened to Ian’s voicemail as soon as he woke up, and it felt so damn good just hearing his voice. He had obviously been worried, and Mickey felt like a total dick for putting him through that.

No matter what happened or didn’t happen between them, Mickey didn’t want to lose Ian as his friend. Problem was, he didn’t how to do this shit. He was a Milkovich, and Milkoviches handled problems on their own with no help from anyone. All the shit going on with Mandy wasn’t his fucking problem and Mickey didn’t see any reason to burden him with it. He had enough on his plate already with his job and now dealing with seeing his sister. Oh yeah and the motherfucker who wanted him dead. Yeah, he pretty much had enough to deal with. He didn’t need Mickey’s problems too.

Ian was pissed and he had every reason to be. Mickey would just give him some time to cool off and hope like hell they could talk things out later on.

When they arrived at the office, Tim thankfully had Ian’s coffee drink waiting on him. Ian stomped into his office but before Mickey could follow him in, he slammed the door in Mickey’s face.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Tim asked, his brows arched.

“What did you say?” Mickey asked, taken aback, the hair on his neck rising.

Tim smiled easily as he typed away on his computer. “I’m just teasing you. Looks like Mr. Gallagher is in one of his moods, huh?”

“You could say that,” Mickey answered, annoyed to be stuck out here talking to this chump.

Just then the door to Ian’s office swung open again and he strolled out, still visibly angry but putting on his best professional front.

“Tim,” Ian barked, “you have Conference Room 212 reserved for 8:30, correct?”

Tim hurriedly checked the calendar on his computer and nodded brusquely. “Yes, sir, from 8:30-9:30.”

“Good,” Ian said, buttoning up his suit jacket. Even angry, he looked hot as hell. “Don’t bother me. I don’t care if someone walks up, pulls out your dick and cuts it off with a six inch butcher knife. Got it?”

Mickey looked on in amusement as Tim’s eyes got about as big as saucers. “Yes, sir,” Tim stuttered.

And with that, Ian stalked off, with Mickey trailing behind him.

A couple hours later, Ian and Mickey were back in his office. The meeting seemed to go well. Ian owned the room and everyone in it as usual, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Mickey how every once in a while Ian would cut his eyes at him, then go right back to business without missing a beat.

But now that they were back, the dark cloud that was hanging over them earlier was looming yet again. Mickey couldn’t take much more of this silent treatment. It was driving him up the fucking wall.

“Ian, look. About yesterday…..” Mickey tried, but Ian immediately put a finger up to stop him and picked up his office phone.

“Tim, I need those reports I asked you for. Now!” he bellowed before slamming the phone back down into its cradle.

Okay, so Ian wasn’t in the mood to talk yet. Mickey would wait a little while and try again.

About an hour later, Mickey was sitting in his usual spot, leg bouncing anxiously. This shit had gone on long enough. Mickey was just on this side of being pissed himself. He decided as he ran his hand through his hair that it was now or never.

“Ian, would you let me explain…..” Ian’s finger went up to silence Mickey once again. But this time, it didn’t work. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, you can take that finger and shove it up your ass along with the stick you apparently have up there. I’ve tried several times to talk to you, but you ‘re just being a stubborn, pigheaded asshole!”

Ian’s mouth fell in shock in one instant, but in the next he was slamming his laptop shut, jumping up and tearing his coat from the coat rack, causing the hanger to swing swiftly back and forth then fall to the floor. He grabbed his phone and shoved it in his pocket before walking to the door of his office and swinging it open.

“Where the hell are you going?” Mickey asked. He started after Ian, but stopped short when Ian turned around in the doorway.

“I’m going outside for a smoke, do you mind? I’ll be back in a second.”

Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door of his office so hard the hinges rattled.

Mickey sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. At least he got Ian to talk to him. Small miracles and all that shit. Mickey was hoping that after he came back, he would have let the nicotine calm his nerves some so they could talk. Fuck, Mickey missed him. He missed his smile, his laughter. Even though he had been right here in the room with him all day, he wasn’t the Ian that Mickey had come to know. The Ian that he was falling for.

Mickey was hanging on to one shred of hope that Ian’s intense reaction to his accidental ghosting act yesterday meant that he cared more about him than he wanted to admit.

Mickey was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he checked his watch. It had been about thirty minutes since Ian left. It doesn’t take that long to smoke a damn cigarette. A frisson of fear ran down Mickey’s spine as he cursed himself for not going with Ian. He left the office and headed to his usual cigarette break spot. When he got there, Ian was nowhere to be found. Maybe he went to go get lunch. They usually go together but given their less than friendly current situation he wouldn’t doubt that Ian wanted to go alone. He ran to Carino’s, their usual spot, but he wasn’t there. He came back to Ian’s office building, but before going inside, he ducked into the parking garage. He took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. His heart fell when he made it to Ian’s parking spot and found it empty.

He ran back down to the first floor, his lungs burning in his chest, the fear choking him like a vise. He found the company car thankfully sitting in its usual spot. He reached in his pocket for his set of keys belonging to anything pertaining to Ian (house, cars, etc.) and fumbled for what seemed like an eternity before he found the key to the company car.

He jumped in the car, cranked it up, threw it in gear, and tore through the parking garage at record speed.

_____________________________

Traffic was thankfully smooth going as Mickey raced across town. He drove for about twenty minutes, until the skyscrapers and traffic lights of the city gave way to trees and rolling hills of dead grass from the winter cold. It was warm inside the car by this point, but that didn’t stop the chills from running up Mickey’s spine. To add to all the things he was fucking up here lately, now he was even failing in his job as a bodyguard, the one thing he had confidence in that he knew how to do well.

Before he could dwell on that thought to much, he looked out the driver’s side window, and that’s when he saw it. The JEDI MSTR license plate. Mickey swerved on instinct, almost sideswiping an oncoming car. He turned into what looked like a meadow, but the grass was brown and all the flowers that bloomed in the spring were lifeless in the dead of the Chicago winter. He immediately honed in on Ian’s Porsche, and Ian Gallagher standing outside, leaned up against it on the driver’s side, smoking a cigarette.

He parked the car and got out, watching Ian carefully the entire time. He didn’t give any indication that he had heard Mickey drive up, just kept blowing smoke from his nostrils and watching as it billowed up and disappeared into the gray, cloudless sky.

“How did you find me?” Mickey heard Ian ask, still turned away from him.

Ian’s voice was harsh still, the anger still lacing his tone. Mickey continued to walk tentatively toward him, not sure what to expect and not wanting to make Ian run again.

“All of your vehicles have a GPS tracker on them,” ‘Mickey explained. Ian scoffed and shook his head. “It’s standard protocol for all of our clients.”

“Of course it is,” Ian mumbled as he threw his smoke down and stubbed it out with his shoe.

Mickey was now standing at the back of Ian’s car, watching him. He didn’t know what to say. But before he could even contemplate that, Ian spoke again.

“My mom used to bring us here when I was little. When she would finally come around after being gone on a drug-fueled bender for months, she would come to the house and tell all of us that she was taking us on a picnic. And I remember being so goddamned happy. She would pack a picnic basket, an actual fucking picnic basket, with sandwiches and different shit. And we would come out here and eat, dance around, listen to her tell crazy stories. It was the happiest I remember being as a kid. But then we would go back home and she would be laid up in the bed for weeks and wouldn’t move, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat. I didn’t understand what was happening. I finally got up the courage to ask Fiona. I think I was scared of the truth, that’s why I never asked. But when I finally did, she told me that my mom had bipolar disorder. Fiona tried to explain to me what that meant but it wasn’t until I was older that I really understood. She wouldn’t take her meds so she was in and out of our lives, doing crazy shit every time she would bother to show up.”

Ian went silent, like he was lost in thought. Mickey took a chance and asked him a question.

“I’m sorry, Ian. Where is she now?”

Ian’s shoulders shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said sadly. “Haven’t seen her in years. She stopped coming around about a year before I left home.”

Mickey was scared to move, scared to stop Ian from talking. Ian had said more about his family in the last five minutes than he had the whole time they had known each other, and Mickey didn’t want him to stop.

“I come here when I just need to…..think.” Ian put both hands in his coat pockets. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes from one pocket and a lighter from the other and lit up another cigarette. “Want one?” Ian asked, still not looking in Mickey’s direction.

“I’m good.” Mickey looked out over the meadow at the expanse of well, nothing. It was nothing but grass as far as he could see. He didn’t even know places like this existed in Chicago. “This is a nice place, man.”

Ian turned his head to look out over the field himself. “Doesn’t look like much now, but in the spring, it’s beautiful.”

Mickey, judging from Ian’s tone that he was in a slightly better mood, walked toward him until he was standing face to face with him. Ian looked down at the ground and shuffled from foot to foot.

“You scared me,” Mickey said finally, and Ian’s head shot up, shooting him a look of disbelief. “I didn’t know where you went.”

“Well, you found me, didn’t you?” Ian remarked snidely. “And you want to talk about scared? How about me not hearing from you all day yesterday, Mick? I called you, texted you, left you voicemails. And nothing. Not a fucking word. I guess you were too busy getting your dick wet to bother picking up your damn phone.”

Mickey winced, Ian’s words hitting him and hurting worse than if he had literally walked up to him and punched him in the face. “Ay, man, that’s not…..”

Ian pressed on, unperturbed. “What scares me the most is _why_ I was so worried and scared.” Ian turned to pace back and forth beside the car, so Mickey took up his spot leaning against the driver side door.

He watched Ian with questioning eyes for a few moments until he just couldn’t take the anticipation any longer. Mickey reached out and grabbed Ian’s wrist, stopping him from moving and forcing him to face him. “Why?”

Ian hesitated, the only sound being Ian’s breath coming in short bursts with the cold air pumping into his lungs. Mickey could feel his pulse beating rapidly underneath his fingertips, matching his own racing heart.

“Because the only other times I have been as happy as I was with my mom right here in this spot were the times I spent with you. I know it’s stupid, I know you’re my employee, but I don’t give a shit. I want to be with you, Mickey. I want you in my life. And not just as a friend. I want more. I want it all.” Ian stepped forward into Mickey’s space and cupped his face in his hands, meeting his eyes with his own tear-filled ones. “I want you.”

The words spilling from Ian’s mouth filled Mickey with equal parts joy and dread. He had dreamt so many times of hearing those words from Ian. But nothing in his dreams even compared to hearing it now, in the flesh. The reality of it was so much better.

But Mickey also knew the risks they would be taking, and what could happen if they weren’t careful. He knew only too well. Before they got any deeper into this thing, Mickey had to be completely honest with him.

Ian’s hands were still warm on his cheeks, his thumbs rubbing softly along his cheekbones. His eyes were earnest and searching, waiting for Mickey’s response.

“Look, man,” Mickey began as his thumbs made circles where his hands rested on Ian’s hips inside his coat, “you don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that shit.” His eyes traveled up to meet Ian’s, their faces so close together that Mickey could feel Ian’s ragged breaths blowing in his face. “But there’s something you gotta know first.”

Ian’s face fell, fear furrowing his brow. He put his hands back down by his side. “What is it?”

“I think I need one of those smokes first,” Mickey said, pointing to Ian’s coat pocket.

Ian hurriedly got Mickey a cigarette out and lit it for him as he placed it between his lips. 

“Um….” Mickey began, scratching his brow with his thumbnail. “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten involved with a client.”

“Is this the one you started to tell me about at the Fairy Tail?” Ian asked as he puffed on his own cigarette.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Have you heard of Stargon Enterprises?”

“Sure.”

“The previous CEO, John Grady, and I….” Mickey trailed off, letting Ian fill in the blanks.

“Oh shit, you and Grady?” Ian’s mouth opened in shock as his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “He retired after he got paralyzed right? It was all over the news for weeks.”

“That’s right,” Mickey nodded sadly, hating to be reminded of the memory. “We were a thing for a while. I don’t want you to think I hook up with all of my clients or anything. He was the only one. But yeah, we got hot and heavy for a while.” Mickey’s stomach fluttered at the flash of jealousy he saw cross Ian’s face. “One day at a charity event, we had been fighting, and I was just off my game I guess, and some asshole got to him and shot him right in the back at point blank range.”

“Oh my God, Mickey. I’m so sorry.” Ian stepped closer to him and Mickey could feel his body heat warm his chilled skin. He felt so consumed by it, so safe.

“It was my own damn fault. So, Malloy assigned me a new client. He never found out about me and Grady. If he had, I would’ve been out on my ass.”

Ian nodded, but didn’t respond, waiting for Mickey to continue.

“And what scares the fuck out of me is that I’ve never cared about anybody the way I do about you. And everybody I care about ends up getting hurt and I can’t do that to you, Ian. It’s too risky.” 

“What do you mean, ‘everybody’? Talk to me, Mick.” Ian’s hands rubbed up and down Mickey’s arms soothingly, coaxing him.

“Fuck, “Mickey muttered as he looked away from Ian’s imploring eyes to get his thoughts together. He didn’t really want to tell him about Mandy but it seemed they were laying all of their shit bare anyway, so he figured that now was as good a time as any.

“Yesterday, I was at the hospital with Mandy.” Mickey heard a small gasp escape Ian’s lips and the grip he had on Mickey’s arms tightened. “She passed out in our bathroom and Iggy called me. So I went up there. The doctor said her red blood cells and platelets or whatever were really low so they were giving her blood transfusions. And that she wasn’t responding to her chemo treatment anymore.”

“Fuck, Mickey, I’m so sorry.” Ian hugged Mickey to him, cradling his head in his hand and rubbing his back up and down with the other hand. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist under his coat and squeezed, letting the stress and worry of the last 24 hours go in a flood of tears that he finally allowed himself to surrender to. “God, I feel like such a dick right now.”

“You’re not a dick, man.” Mickey pulled back, sniffling as he looked Ian in the eyes.

Ian reached up and wiped Mickey’s tears away with his thumbs. “I really am,” Ian chuckled. “But what did the doctor say about her prognosis?”

Mickey struggled to keep more tears from falling when he thought about what the doctor had said. He was always taught it wasn’t manly to cry. His prick of a father beat that fact into him on more than one occasion. But that asshole was rotting away in a cell somewhere and this was his sister. He could cry for his sister.

Mickey continued to hold tight to Ian as he spoke. He looked up at him, feeling grounded by those green eyes sparkling down at him. “The doc said she could either go into hospice care, which I told her real quick wasn’t even an option. Or there’s some new drug still in clinical trials that she said has worked for other AML patients.”

Mickey hesitated, not wanting to tell Ian about the cost of the drugs, hoping like hell Ian would leave it at that. But of course, he didn’t.

“That’s good, right?” Ian’s voice lifted, full of hope. “Why would she even bring up hospice care if this new drug can help her?”

Damn, he didn’t miss a thing. Mickey had gone this far now, there was no turning back. He might as well tell him everything.

“Because the drug costs four thousand dollars a month, and my insurance won’t cover it.”

“Holy fuck, Mickey. That’s insane!” Ian shrieked. “Why won’t your insurance cover it?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to call them and try to talk to them. I don’t give a shit what I have to do, I’m getting those meds for Mandy.”

“I know you will,” Ian assured. “Where is she now? Still in the hospital?”

“Yeah, she’ll be there for a few more days until her red blood cells and platelets are back to normal.”

“Look,” Ian said, staring down at Mickey pointedly. “We’ll figure this out together, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Mickey nodded, feeling better than he had in a while. He felt bad about unloading all his shit onto Ian, but damn it felt good to have someone to talk to about it. And he was so glad that person was Ian. Even with how scary the situation was, Ian made everything better. But it didn’t take long for those doubts to creep back up into his conscience. “Ian, I don’t want to mess anything up for you. Look what happened the last time I got involved with my client. You have too much at stake.”

“Mickey, listen to me,” Ian placated. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. We are going to have to be careful until the stupid prick that wants me dead is caught and you can be assigned to someone else. I want you to continue to be my bodyguard. I want the best, and you are the best.” He rolled his eyes at Mickey’s scoff. “Shut the fuck up, you are. Anyway, it will be a risk, but in my eyes, you are worth it. More than worth it.”

Mickey shook his head but couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips. “God, you’re such a fucking sap.”

“And you fucking love it,” Ian smiled back.

“You bet your ass I do. Come here.” He wrapped his hand around Ian’s neck and pulled him down to meet his lips, throwing his forgotten cigarette down to the dead grass. They kissed softly and tenderly, the kiss of new lovers, discovering, tasting, and loving every minute of it.

When they finally pulled away from each other, they rested their foreheads together, reveling in the feeling of their bodies pressed so closely together. Ian planted soft kisses on Mickey’s cheeks, his nose then his forehead, lingering there for a few beats before pulling back.

Mickey put his hands in his coat pockets and shivered from the cold that he suddenly felt, even though the smile never faltered from his lips. He felt a piece of paper in his pocket and looked down as he pulled it out to see what it was. Ian was now looking as well, curious to see what it was himself. Mickey unfolded the paper and saw Fiona’s name and number scrawled on it.

He held the paper out to Ian and said, “Here, this is for you. If you care about me at all, you’ll use it.”

“You don’t play fair, do you?” Ian smirked with a roll of his eyes.

“Never said I did,” Mickey answered with a wink.

Ian took the piece of paper and shoved it deep into his pocket. He was feeling too good at the moment and the only thing that one little slip of paper did was remind him of his past and he wanted to live completely in the present. With Mickey.

“We better get back to work. I have an important event to plan,” Ian smiled, a twinkle in his eyes.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mickey asked as he turned to walk back to the company car. “Don’t you have people that you pay way too fucking much to do that shit for you?”

“Not this time. This one is all me,” Ian replied with a playful smile on his face as he opened the door to his Porsche.

“Well, damn. What is so fucking important that you have to do all the planning?”

“Our first date.”

Ian winked and jumped in the driver’s seat, taking off down the road as Mickey got in the company car to follow behind him, a big smile plastered on his face.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey's first date. Well, the first part anyway....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long to get out! I have been in a funk lately and haven't felt like writing. I'm starting to get my motivation back, so yay! Hope you enjoy this chapter:)

Mickey woke up on Saturday morning with his stomach twisting in knots for several reasons. For one, he was excited and nervous because tonight was his first date with Ian. The whole week, Ian had been tight-lipped about his plans for their date, and, even though Mickey usually hated surprises and tried like hell to get information out of him with no luck, he couldn’t deny how much he was looking forward to it.

But every time his happy thoughts turned to Ian, an image of Mandy’s pale, thin face flitted through his mind and the fact that he had yet to get the money for his sister’s treatment. He had a few ideas in mind, but they weren’t exactly on the legal side of things, but he promised his sister he would do anything, and he never went back on a promise.

He had also called his insurance company every day that week, each time with the same result-his insurance would not cover the cost of the experimental drugs that she needed, no matter how many times he pretty much threatened the life of the poor, unwitting soul that was unfortunate enough to take his call.

There was also the constant worry that his and Ian’s relationship would be discovered. They did a pretty good job of keeping it professional at work, even though there was a lot of flirting and eye-fucking going on. But they tried to limit that to the time that they were in Ian’s office alone together, which wasn’t very often, with Ian’s busy schedule. And if they kissed for a few minutes each night right inside Ian’s door to his apartment before they said goodbye for the night, that was no one’s business but their own. 

Mickey really hoped whoever the fucker was that issued the death threat to Ian was caught soon, not only for the fact that Ian would finally be out of danger, which scared Mickey more than he wanted to admit, but also because then he could be reassigned and he and Ian could be together without the fear of either of them losing their jobs looming over them.

Mickey slipped on a t-shirt and sweats before making his way to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Mandy greeted with a weak smile as she sat at the kitchen table sipping her coffee.

She had finally gotten to come home on Thursday and seemed to be feeling a little better. But they all knew it was only temporary. It was only a matter of time before her blood counts went down again and she ended right back up in the hospital unless Mickey could find a way to get those fucking meds.

“Morning,” Mickey grumbled, stumbling to the coffee pot and pouring him a cup. “Iggy up yet?”

“Not yet. He worked the late shift last night, so it will be a while before he’s up.” Mandy followed her brother with her eyes as he pulled the metal chair opposite her across the floor with a loud scrape and sat down. “By the way, why are you up this damn early on a Saturday?” She stared at him over her coffee cup with a quirked brow.

Mickey glanced at the clock on the wall above her head as he took his first sip of coffee. 7:45. Fuck. He still had not mentioned his date with Ian to either Mandy or Iggy. He was not really looking forward to the unbelievable amount of shit that he was no doubt going to get from both of them. But Mandy knew him too damn well and knew that he only got up this early when he was anxious about something.

She probably figured it had to do with her, and she would be fucking right about that, but he figured he might as well go ahead and tell her about their date and stop delaying the inevitable. Especially since Ian insisted on picking Mickey up at his house tonight at 7:00. Mickey really didn’t like the idea of Ian coming all the way to the Southside alone, and that was not just the bodyguard in him talking. Ian’s safety was everything to him, but the stubborn fucker had insisted.

Mandy was still staring at him, waiting for an answer to her question. He sat his coffee cup down on the table, running his index finger along the rim. “I, uh…..I sorta have a date tonight.”

“What?” Mandy’s asked as her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Since when?”

“Since Monday,” Mickey answered, still looking down into his cup.

“With who?”

Mickey sighed heavily and dropped his arms on the table in defeat. “With Ian, okay?”

“Ian? Ian Gallagher? Ian ‘gorgeous, rich, CEO’ Gallagher?!” Mandy’s voice got higher the longer she went on.

“Yes, fuck,” Mickey confirmed with a roll of his eyes. “Would you calm the fuck down, please?”

Mickey stood up from the table and walked around to the cabinet to grab a bowl and the Fruit Loops from the top of the refrigerator as his sister kept yammering on.

“Mick, that’s so great!” She turned in her chair to watch him fix his bowl of cereal. “How did that even happen?”

Mickey leaned against the kitchen counter and shoved a spoonful of the sugary cereal into his mouth, giving him a few blessed seconds to form an answer.

“I don’t know,” was all he could come up with as he shrugged. He wasn’t going to go into every detail of his time with Ian with his sister. “We just hung out a few times outside of work, then Monday he asked me out.”

“Wow, that’s exciting!” Mandy was beaming at this point. “Where are you going on your date?”

“I have no idea. The asshole won’t tell me a damn thing,” Mickey sighed, walking back over to the table and plopping down.

“Well, shit. Does he not know that I have to live vicariously through you?” Mandy teased with a wink. “It’s not like I’m ever going to get laid again.”

A hint of sadness crossed Mandy’s face that she tried to hide, but Mickey saw it. “Bullshit, Mandy. You’re going to get better then you’ll be getting more dick than me.”

Mandy scoffed, tapping her fingernail against her cup. “Yeah, right.” When she saw Mickey about to say something to argue, she interjected, clearly aiming to change the subject. “Anyway, so when’s all this happening? What time?”

“Seven. Ian’s picking me up here.” Mickey glanced up to see Mandy’s reaction. She was grinning like a fucking idiot.

“So I actually get to meet him? I’m so excited!”

“Please tell me Igg is not going to be here,” Mickey groused. One annoying sibling was more than enough.

“You’ll be happy to know Iggy has to be at work at seven.”

“Thank fuck.”

Mandy shot an amused smirk at her brother, automatically making him wish it was Iggy that would be here tonight when Ian picks him up instead of her.

__________________________________

Mickey was showered, shaved, and had splashed himself down with aftershave. He was wearing his favorite navy blue button down shirt and jeans. He had gone a little heavy with the hair gel but what the fuck ever. It was 6:45 now and Mickey was sitting on the couch mindlessly surfing through channels on the TV, his leg doing that nervous bouncing thing while his sister grinned stupidly at him from the other end of the couch.

Iggy thankfully had already left for work, but not before shouting a quick, “Go get you some, bro!” over his shoulder before leaving. Mandy had apparently filled him at some point that day. Mickey had shot her a murderous glare, but she simply shrugged in feigned innocence.

“What the fuck are you so smiley about?” Mickey asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Mandy pulled her blanket up under her chin and folded her legs up under her body. “You’re just so cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mickey lied defensively. Even he didn’t believe his own words. He was nervous as a whore in church, and obviously sucked at hiding it.

Ten minutes later (that felt like ten years), there was a sharp knock at the door.

“I got it!” They both announced at the same time with Mickey jumping up from his spot on the couch, with Mandy following him at a slightly slower pace.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked as Mandy came around to stand in front of him to block his path.

“Don’t you know anything about dating, you simp?” Mandy whispered harshly. “You don’t just run up and answer the door yourself. You have someone answer it for you and they will come and get you.”

Mickey scoffed sarcastically. “Yeah, maybe in fucking Leave It to Beaver Land. And the longer we stand here arguing, the more chance there is of his Porsche getting stolen and stripped for parts so get the fuck out of my way.”

“Porsche?!”

Mickey rolled his eyes at his sister who had scurried to the window as fast as she could and pulled the curtain back to inconspicuously ogle the man’s car. After all, it wasn’t every day you saw a car like that in this hood, stolen or not. He walked to the door and opened it up to a chuckling Ian Gallagher standing on the other side.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Mickey asked in greeting. He soon forgot Ian was even laughing when he raked his eyes down the man’s body and took in just how unbelievably hot he looked, even in the dim, sucky porch light that shone above him. He was wearing a forest green sweater with gray slacks, and some obviously brand new expensive damn shoes. His gorgeous red hair was slicked back, every hair perfectly in place.

Mickey’s mouth went dry and he forgot how to think for a moment. So much so that he didn’t realize at first that Ian was speaking.

“I just accidently overheard your conversation and it was hilarious. Or maybe it’s nervous laughter, I don’t know,” Ian admitted as he shuffled from foot to foot. 

Mickey was sort of relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one nervous, even though he couldn’t imagine someone like him making someone like Ian Gallagher nervous. It gave him a little boost of confidence that he so desperately needed.

He leaned against the doorway and folded his arms across his chest. “Whatcha nervous about?”

Ian narrowed his eyes at Mickey, a smirk playing on his lips. “Probably worried that my Porsche will get stolen and stripped for parts.”

They both grinned widely then, with Ian stepping up closer to Mickey and placing a light kiss on his cheek. “You look great,” Mickey remarked, using the moment to yet again scan his eyes up and down the gorgeous man standing in front of him.

“So do you,” Ian complimented, his eyes doing the same appreciative glance up and down his body, making Mickey’s skin heat up everywhere he looked. “Here,” Ian blurted as he suddenly pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

“Fuck, am I the only one living in the 21st century here? Flowers? Really?”

“These aren’t for you, smartass.” Ian peered around Mickey, obviously looking for someone. Mickey turned sideways as Mandy, who was now standing behind him practically jumping out of her skin, came up to stand beside him. “These are for you.”

Ian held the bouquet out to Mandy, who was smiling like a star struck teenage girl. “Thank you,” Mandy said, bringing the bouquet to her face and inhaling their sweet scent. “Roses are my favorite. And I love yellow.”

“Well, I’m glad you like them. Mandy, right? Mickey’s told me a lot about you.”

“Yes, that’s right. My brother here is being a rude fucker, so please excuse him,” Mandy teased, slapping him in the chest and earning an annoyed look from her brother before taking Ian’s outstretched hand.

“I’m Ian. Ian Gallagher.”

“Mandy Milkovich. It’s nice to meet you, Ian. Mickey’s told me alot about you too. But clearly he didn’t do you justice.” Mickey looked on in horror as she actually had the fucking audacity to look him up and down.

Mandy cut her eyes at her brother, then quickly brought her attention back to Ian. Mickey could feel the heat rising in his face. He was sure his face was the same shade as Ian’s hair right at that moment.

“He didn’t mention how beautiful you were either.” Mandy self-consciously rubbed at the skull cap on her head. Ian just smiled sincerely at her before bending down and kissing her on the cheek. Mickey’s heart giving a lurch as he watched the exchange.

A blush painted Mandy’s cheek as she smiled shyly up at him. As much as he loved to see the effect Ian was having on her, it was time to end this love fest between his date and his sister. “You ready to go?” Mickey prompted.

“Sure,” Ian nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Mandy.”

Mickey grabbed his coat from the rack by the door as they said their goodbyes. With a final bright smile aimed at Mandy, Ian turned to walk back to his car. Before Mickey joined him, he turned back to close the door, his sister still standing there, obviously still under the ‘Ian Gallagher spell.’ He understood that feeling all too well. Her mouth fell open and she mouthed an “Oh my god” at him before he shut the door in her face.

_Me too, sis. Me too,_ he thought as he ran to catch up to Ian, who was already opening the passenger door for him.

________________________

“Your sister’s great,” Ian remarked as he pulled out from his parking spot in front of Mickey’s house.

Pride bloomed in Mickey’s chest at his words and an appreciative smile lit up his face. “Thanks. We like her,” he teased. “She really liked you, man.”

“Oh, really?” Ian asked, glancing quickly at Mickey with a smirk. “Another victim of my charms?”

Mickey shot him a faux perturbed look and muttered, “Cocky motherfucker.”

Mickey saw his lips turn up into a smile as he watched the road. Mickey knew Ian was referring to him as the other “victim,” and well, he knew it was true. But he didn’t give a shit. Mickey had gotten to know the real Ian and so far, he liked what he saw. A lot.

“So you still not going to tell me where we’re going?” Mickey asked, glancing out the window as they veered onto the ramp leading to the interstate.

“Nope,” Ian answered simply. “It’s a surprise, Mick.”

Mickey groaned audibly and thumbed his nose. Ian laughed softly, clearly amused by his annoyance.

He didn’t have long to stew in his aggravation because fifteen minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Mickey glanced up at the sleek building they pulled in front of. “Mastro’s Steakhouse?”

“The one and only.”

Before Mickey could say anything else, valets were opening his and Ian’s doors, momentarily scaring the shit out of Mickey and putting him in defensive bodyguard mode.

“It’s okay, Mick,” Ian reassured with a hand on his leg. Mickey could feel the warmth through his jeans. “They’re just going to park the car.”

“Yeah, I knew that,” Mickey lied, trying to play it cool. Ian’s accompanying sideways smile told him that he didn’t believe him but was too nice to call him on it.

“Thanks, Mel,” Mickey heard Ian say. He looked over in time as he got out of the car to see Ian slip him two one hundred dollar bills.

Holy shit.

_______________________

The restaurant itself was amazing-sleek, modern, and obviously very sophisticated. Mickey had been in some nice restaurants in his line of work, but this had to be the most luxurious one he’d ever been in. It was a little off putting to say the least.

The friendly hostess greeted Ian by name and quickly led them to a section at the back of the restaurant that was separated by white marble partitions. They were seated at a table that was covered with a white linen tablecloth and had two matching brown leather chairs.

Two waiters immediately greeted them, again calling Ian by name, and took their drink and appetizer orders. It all happened so fast, Mickey’s head was spinning. He suddenly felt very much out of his league.

Mickey glanced around the spacious room and noticed that they were the only ones in there. Their drinks arrived then, Ian a bottle of very expensive looking Cabernet Sauvignon, and Mickey a bottle of Bud Light. Yep, definitely out of his league.

“Hey, man,” Mickey whispered, “Where is everybody? We’re the only ones in here.”

Ian smiled as he lowered his glass after taking a drink of his wine. He glanced up and met Mickey’s eyes. “I reserved the whole room. I wanted us to have a little privacy.” His hand came to rest on top of Mickey’s on the table. Mickey nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” was all he could think of to say. God, he felt like such a fucking idiot.

“So, how do you like the shrimp cocktail?” Ian asked a few minutes after their appetizer arrived. He picked up a shrimp, dunked it in the sauce and took a bite.

Mickey took a swig of his beer, trying his best to swallow down the lump in his throat along with it. “I think paying thirty bucks for fish bait is fucking ridiculous.”

Ian laughed suddenly, almost choking on the shrimp he was chewing. He started coughing and sputtering, Mickey immediately jumping up to reach over and slap him on the back a few times before he regained his composure. He cleared his throat and croaked out a quick “thank you.” Once Mickey was sure he was okay and wasn’t going to choke to death, he sat back down in his chair. When he glanced across the table, Ian was staring at him, with a look that was a cross between embarrassment and amusement, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “Well, I’m nothing if not smooth,” Ian quipped. They shared another look before both of them laughed uncontrollably together.

“Oh yeah, you’re a real fucking Don Juan,” Mickey replied, still laughing despite himself.

Ian regarded Mickey quizzically as his laughter died down, grabbing another shrimp and swinging it around in his hand as he spoke. “Technically, Don Juan seduced women, so that doesn’t really apply.”

“What the fuck ever, man. Just shut up and eat your shrimp,” Mickey scoffed playfully, pointing to the platter in front of him. “Hopefully I won’t have to give you the Heimlich maneuver this time.” 

Ian chuckled as he took a sip of his drink to wash down the appetizer. They shared a smile across the table and their eyes caught for a few seconds before Ian said in the softest voice, “This feels good.”

“What does?” Mickey asked as Ian lightly brushed his fingers over Mickey’s hand resting on the table, causing a tingling feeling all the way down to his toes.

“Laughing. Being happy. It’s kind of a new thing for me,” Ian said shyly, suddenly looking down and fiddling with the cloth napkin in his lap.

“Hey,” Mickey said, waiting until Ian finally looked at him. “Me too,” he whispered back.

Ian’s smile then lit up the room and his shoulders seemed to slump in relief. Mickey returned his smile just before one of the waiters came to take their orders for their main course.

They hadn’t even looked at their menus yet, so they both scanned it quickly. Mickey was appalled at the prices. This place was definitely steeper than any other place he had been in. Sometimes his meal would be comped by his boss at the time, but a lot of times, he was pretty much forgotten unless there was a problem, so most of the time he had to fend for himself. But he had never seen prices this high.

Ian must have sensed his uneasiness because he put his hand on the top of Mickey’s menu and pulled it down from his face. “Order anything you like, Mickey. It’s fine.”

They hadn’t really discussed who was paying for tonight and Mickey certainly didn’t want Ian to assume he had to pay just because he was the obvious bread winner in this relationship.

Ian gave the patient waiter his order, sounding like he did this all the time, which Mickey then realized, he probably did. He ordered Chilean Sea Bass with Roasted Brussel Sprouts. While the waiter asked how he wanted his sea bass cooked, Mickey quickly added up the prices of his meal which came to about sixty five dollars. Holy fuck.

When the waiter looked at Mickey expectantly, smiling at him, he muttered unsurely, “Uh, I’ll have the 24 oz Porterhouse with a baked potato.” Mickey added those two items up in his head. Seventy three dollars. Holy fucking shit.

“Excellent choice. And how would you like that steak prepared, sir?” the waiter asked while taking his menu from him.

“Huh? Oh, uh you mean cooked? As long as it’s mooing, I’m good.”

“Rare. Yes sir. Mr. Gallagher, your orders will be delivered shortly.” The waiter turned on his heel and was out of the room before Mickey even realized what had happened.

Mickey saw Ian staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Oh nothing. Just discovered something else we have in common.”

“What?”

“I like my steak mooing too.” Ian winked at him before moving his hand to Mickey’s knee and squeezing and suddenly he felt all the blood rush from his face right down to his cock. The effect this man had on him was mind boggling, but in the best way possible.

“Well, good. I can’t be with a man that doesn’t take his meat red,” Mickey smirked. Ian’s hand traveled a little further up his leg before he removed it. Mickey swallowed thickly at the sensation and felt the emptiness when his hand was gone.

After that, they both seemed to relax a bit. The butterflies in Mickey’s stomach seemed to calm down. That is until every time Ian’s green eyes settled on him. Just a look from him had Mickey’s heart going into overdrive.

“So how did you become a bodyguard, Mickey?” Ian asked before lifting his glass and taking another sip of his wine.

Mickey let out a breath as he considered Ian’s question. This was new territory for him. He wasn’t used to talking about himself. Nobody he had ever worked for was ever interested in anything beyond him doing his job and all the guys he’d been with lately were just what he wanted them to be-quick fucks. So the conversation was pretty much limited to the whereabouts of the condoms and lube.

“Uh, well, I started working for LawDog about four years ago when my boss Malloy came into the club I was working at as a bouncer called the Fairy Tail. He was….” Mickey stopped talking when he saw Ian’s eyebrows shoot up and a laugh escape his lips. “Goddamn, you’re a chuckle box tonight. What did I say that’s so funny?”

Ian shook his head and cleared his throat, clearly trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I used to go there all the time. It’s a small world I guess, huh?”

Ian was apparently amused by the irony of them being at the same club at probably around the same time, but all Mickey could think of was Ian being in that club with the clientele that he knew frequented that place. Horny old geriatric motherfuckers looking for their next boy toy. The thought made Mickey’s skin crawl.

“What the fuck were you doing in a place like that? You could get any guy you wanted, man.”

“You forget where we’re from all of a sudden?” Ian asked, leaning on the table and folding his arms in front of him. “I got tired of quick fucks in back alleys, always looking over my shoulder. I wasn’t closeted or anything, but that’s something you didn’t advertise on the Southside. Going there, I could just be myself and not have to worry about hiding, you know? Plus the men would sometimes order me room service, buy me stuff. It was nice.”

Ian was looking down at the table now, tracing the base of his wine glass with his finger, seeming like he was getting embarrassed the more he shared about that part of his past, if the blush on his cheeks was any indication. “Guess you could say I have major daddy issues,” Ian added with a quiet snicker.

Mickey’s bottle stopped mid air before he took a swig as he answered. “Hey, I wrote fucking book on daddy issues, so I get it. It’s just hard to imagine someone like you letting those old pedos take advantage of you. Kinda makes me want to bash every one of ‘em’s skulls in.”

“Do you ever turn the bodyguard thing off?” Ian questioned, amusement alight on his face. “Or are you always in that mode, ready to strike?”

Mickey placed his bottle on the table as he sat up and leaned on the table, regarding Ian seriously. “That has nothing to do with being a bodyguard.” 

Ian’s eyes went wide and he could see his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed thickly. “Oh,” was all he said as the realization of what Mickey meant sunk in. Ian nodded and leaned back a little, releasing a shaky sigh.

“Wait a minute,” Mickey said suddenly, startling Ian. “Gallagher…..don’t tell me your father is Frank Gallagher?”

Ian rolled his eyes at the mention of that name. “Well, father is a bit of a stretch. Worthless piece of shit is more fitting, but yeah, I guess so.”

“Shit, no wonder you have daddy issues. What a fuckhead.” Mickey watched as the smile immediately fell from Ian’s face and he remembered his earlier words about talking about his early life. “Hey, man. I’m sorry I brought all that shit up. You don’t have to talk about that stuff.”

“No, it’s fine,” Ian reassured. “It’s actually nice getting all this out.” Ian’s fingers found Mickey’s hand again and traced small circles over the top. “I guess you could say this is another new thing for me.”

Mickey caught Ian’s hand as his fingers made yet another circle and entwined their fingers together. Ian’s head shot up at the contact.

They shared a smile before settling back and sipping from their respective drinks.

“So,” Mickey began again after a few moments of silence, “want to talk some more about ol’ Frank?”

Ian scoffed derisively. “Hell, no. Fuck that prick. He’s one of the reasons I left.”

“What happened?”

“Same old shit I guess,” Ian shrugged noncommittally. “He came home wasted and picked a fight with me, which is what he usually did after a bender. It was always me. No one else was ever his target. At least not as bad as I was. I guess you could say I was the victim of the ‘middle child syndrome.’ Always forgotten, you know? Until he came home and wanted to fight. And one day after a particularly nasty fight, I just got fed up and left. I swore right then and there that I would make something of myself. That I would be successful. So I guess in a round about way I can thank Frank fucking Gallagher for my success.”

“Fuck that,” Mickey sneered. “Your success was all you, Ian. Don’t let anybody ever take that away from you, especially that prick.”

Ian smiled sincerely. “Thank you, Mickey.”

Mickey shrugged. “No problem,” he replied with a smile of his own as he gave Ian’s hand a squeeze before releasing it.

“Enough about my deadbeat dad,” Ian said. “Why don’t we talk about yours?”

Mickey gulped down the big pull of beer he had just taken and groaned internally at the thought of his old man. He really didn’t want to talk about him. Terry was a part of his past that he really just wanted to forget. But he also knew that Ian had shared a lot about himself that he wasn’t comfortable with either. If Ian could get past that and open up to him like he did, Mickey at least owed him the same.

He glanced down at his bottle sitting on the table, nervously picking at the label. “My dad was an asshole, plain and simple. When he wasn’t gone on drug runs, he was in and out of jail. We didn’t see him much, which was a good thing because when he was around, all he did was abuse us kids.”

Ian tilted his head to the side, regarding Mickey thoughtfully as he spoke. He hated the sympathetic look he saw when he glanced across the table. He didn’t want anybody’s pity, especially Ian’s. He tried like hell to ignore the pang of regret he felt in his gut. It had been years since he had spoken about his dad, and even then it had been with Mandy. Nevertheless, he swallowed down the uneasy feeling with a swig of beer that was not doing much to calm his nerves, and continued on.

“He was a homophobic prick who would just as soon kill us than see one of his kids be gay and told us so on many occasions. I knew what I was pretty early on, but I tried like hell to hide it. There was no way I was going to let him find out. But then one day, this boy who had been after me pretty hard, came on to me in the boys’ bathroom at school during lunch. We started fucking around in one of the stalls. A teacher walked in and caught us. I was suspended, but that was the least of my worries.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes boring into him without even looking at him. He heaved a heavy sigh before scratching a thumbnail across this brow. “They called my dad and he came home and beat the fuck out of me. Mandy called the cops. I went to the hospital, and he went to prison.”

Mickey took a deep breath and blew it out, looking up at Ian to gauge his reaction. The murderous glare in his eyes was not what he was expecting. “Did he get out?” Ian asked through gritted teeth.

“He’s still there last I heard. My injuries were bad enough that he was convicted of attempted murder. I don’t think he’ll get out for a long time.” Mickey was sure, with the way that Ian was reacting, that if Terry were here right now, Ian would kill him with his own bare hands.

Ian leaned over with an outstretched hand and a look of what seemed like pride on his face. Gone was the anguished look that was there a few minutes ago. Mickey stared at his empty hand, overwhelmed at how much he trusted Ian, considering everything he had just shared. Shit he had never told anybody outside the Milkovich house. And he had a feeling, that with everything Ian had told him about his past, that the feeling was mutual. At least he hoped it was.

Any doubt in Mickey’s mind about that was erased completely as soon as he placed his hand in Ian’s. It was as if a ton of bricks had been lifted off both of their shoulders, a look of understanding passing between them.

“Good fucking riddance,” Ian whispered before squeezing Mickey’s hand. As he straightened back up in his chair and let go of his hand, he added, his voice full of emotion, “I’m sorry that happened to you. I really am. My dad is a prick too, but at least he was never a homophobic prick.”

“No wonder we’re both so fucked up, huh?” Mickey remarked, smirking at Ian who was pouring himself another glass of wine.

Ian nodded in agreement. “That’s the damn truth. Hey, let’s make a toast.”

Mickey released a relieved sigh, happy to move on from the last few intense minutes. “And what exactly are we toasting to?”

Ian held up his wine glass as he proclaimed, “To being fucked up together.”

“To being fucked up together,” Mickey repeated, holding up his beer bottle. They clinked their drinks together, each taking a sip while their eyes found each other’s across the table.

___________________________________

The food was expensive as fuck, but damn if it wasn’t delicious.

“Man, this is the best fucking steak I have ever eaten,” Mickey said, almost moaning as he took another bite.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Ian replied before he finished off his entree. “This sea bass is delicious, too. Did you want a dessert?”

“Nah, man. This shit was expensive enough,” Mickey said, pointing his finger between their two plates.

“I told you don’t worry about it, Mick.”

Mickey put his knife and fork down on his plate after finishing off his last bite. “I don’t expect you to pay for all this shit. At least let me pay half.”

“Mickey, don’t be silly. I asked you out on this date. I will pay for it. I tell you what,” Ian said as he reached in his pocket and pulled a black AMEX out of his wallet, “I’ll pay for this one and you can pay for the next one, okay?”

Mickey blinked, shocked at what Ian had just said. He forgot all about the money and focused on the words Ian let slip. _The next one._ Was he saying he wanted to go out with Mickey again? That caused a warm feeling to pool in his gut because that’s exactly what he wanted too.

Ian, seeing the surprised look on Mickey’s face at his words, must have misconstrued his reaction because he all of a sudden became flustered. “I’m sorry, Mick…..I didn’t mean…..I…..we don’t have to…..”

“Ian,” Mickey interjected, “it’s okay. I’ll be glad to pay for the next one.”

Ian breathed in deep and released a shaky sigh as the waiter picked up the check and his card, completely unseen by him. Ian’s eyes were locked on his as a silent assurance passed between them that they both wanted more of nights like tonight.

__________________________________

Ian followed Mickey out of the restaurant into the crisp, cold November air. He was silently kicking himself for being such a weirdo when he mentioned them going on another date. The last thing he had wanted to do was make Mickey uncomfortable with the idea and scare him away, which is exactly what he thought he had done.

He had never been on a real date, never wanted to go on one until he had met Mickey. He loved just being around the man that it didn’t matter what the hell they did. Mickey made him feel so warm, so happy. All the things he hadn’t felt in a long damn time. So yes, he wanted a second date, even though they still weren’t done with the first. He wanted to spend every moment he could with him. He didn’t want the things he was feeling to ever end.

That’s why it was such a relief when Mickey reassured him that that’s what he wanted too. Ian couldn’t help but laugh at himself. Here he was- rich, powerful CEO of one of the most successful companies in the city who prided himself on how many people he could intimidate in a day, but when Mickey Milkovich gets around him, he’s reduced to a puddle of mush.

He must have laughed out loud without realizing it as they stood on the sidewalk waiting for his Porsche to arrive. Mickey turned his head and shot him a quizzical look. “What is it?”

Ian stepped closer to him, pulling on his arm until his hand came out of his pocket. Ian laced his fingers with Mickey’s, his hand so warm in his, even in the middle of Chicago winter. A blush formed on Mickey’s cheeks that Ian suspected had nothing to do with the cold. He couldn’t stop staring at Mickey’s red, full lips, the urge to kiss him right then and there so strong, but he wanted to wait until the perfect moment and this just didn’t feel like the right time.

Mickey glanced down at their joined hands before looking up at Ian and smiling shyly. Ian returned his smile as he answered with a shake of his head. “Nothing, really. Just you.”

“What the hell did I do?” Mickey asked, pretending to be affronted.

Mickey squeezed his hand then, making Ian’s breath hitch a little. “You just make me giddy. Like a fucking teenage girl. What are you doing to me, Mickey Milkovich?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Mickey shrugged, looking down nervously at his shoes.

Ian pulled Mickey by his hand until his body was flush against his own. Their faces inches apart, their breath coming out in bursts of smoke that billowed around them before evaporating into the night air. Ian took Mickey’s chin in his thumb and forefinger and whispered softly against his lips.

“Don’t ever stop.”

Just then Ian’s car drove up and they reluctantly broke apart. Mel jumped out while Joe, the other valet, climbed out of the passenger seat and held the door open for Mickey.

“Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Gallagher,” Mel said as they both got in the car.

“Thanks, Mel.” Ian gave them a final wave as he threw the car in drive and sped off.

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll have a wonderful evening too, you dickheads,” Mickey remarked, clearly annoyed that he was largely ignored by both men.

Ian’s brow creased with worry. “I’m sorry, Mick. Those assholes aren’t nice to people. They’re only nice to Benjamins. Did they offend you? Because I will gladly turn this car around and go back there and kick their asses.”

“Hey, who’s supposed to be protecting who here?” Mickey questioned with a quirk of his lip, seemingly amused with this protective side of Ian.

“Excuse me, but you are off the clock tonight. This is all pleasure, no business.”

“Oh, is that right?” Mickey drawled, the mood immediately shifting as lust dripped from his voice. Ian noticed out of the corner of his eye that Mickey was looking him up and down, causing a tightening in his gut, his breath coming a little quicker. In fact, they were both so lost in each other that neither one of them noticed the black SUV that pulled out onto the highway after they left the restaurant, following close behind them.


End file.
